


As Leaves That Fall From Trees

by kyrene



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, faux-het sex with m/m sex to follow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-09
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:31:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They only had sex when Eames was a woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  


They only had sex when Eames was a woman.

In the dream-share, of course, that much was a given. But that was real enough; lucid dreaming and all. Eames didn't have the slightest idea why they only had sex when he was in female form in the dream-share, but there it was. Maybe Arthur wanted to maintain the illusion that he was straight. Perhaps it was some strange kink of the other man's. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

What Eames _did_ know was that he, himself, wasn't about to rock the boat. He didn't want to risk losing this, because it was the only way he could have Arthur, and so he was going to continue to do what it took to make Arthur happy, to keep him wanting more.

Maybe Arthur did it because Eames was easy. Eames was only easy for _Arthur_ , but Arthur didn't need to know that. At any rate, Arthur certainly didn't have put any of the effort into wining and dining and wooing that a _real_ woman would have required. Even though Eames tended to think better of Arthur than that, it was one of many possibilities.

Well, whatever the reason, this was the way that they did it. It had been going on so long that Eames almost felt he had forgotten when and how it had started.

And, now, wasn't _that_ a whopper of a lie.

Eames would always remember the first time. He would always remember _every_ time. He might not know why Arthur was doing it, but he knew why _he_ was. He just didn't like to acknowledge it, even in the privacy of his own thoughts.

The thing was, Eames didn't have sex with anyone else. It wasn't that he was hugely into monogamy. It was just that he didn't _want_ to have sex with anyone else. He very determinedly ignored the reasons behind this. Honestly, he didn't feel the need to be _that_ in touch with his own emotions.

So they went along as they had been doing, and Eames got more of Arthur than he had ever thought he would get... even if he wasn't one hundred percent himself at the time. And it was good, even though Eames sometimes felt as though he was going to forget what it was like to have sex when he had a cock. In his darker moments, he had to wonder what that might be doing to his psyche.

But Eames wasn't a man who defined himself by his sexuality, and so he tended not to bother defining said sexuality. "Flexible" was a good way of putting it. Some had said "slutty" in the past, but it was hardly slutty any longer when he only had one lover... right?

Of course, when a person could and _had_ knocked boots with both genders while in the form of both genders, waking and dreaming, one word was hardly going to be enough to encapsulate the entirety of his experiences, was it.

Bisexuality was what most people tended to label it, but Eames wasn't sure that was adequate. Not when he had tried fucking _four_ different ways.... He doubted tetra-sexual was a legitimate turn of phrase. He'd heard the term pansexual bandied about, but it seemed rather pretentious to him, what with its classic origins. And he didn't feel it was specific enough, encompassing _everything_ , as it did. Eames wasn't _that_ free spirited.

Actually, if he counted an incredibly lusty week spent in the dream-share with a female forger who had taken a male form to both his male and female personas while under, then Eames had tried five and six ways of fucking. Or perhaps those were just subsets of the same four methods. He really didn't tend to overthink it.

And, anyway, those days were over. Now it was all Arthur all the time. Or, well, as often as Eames could get the point man to go under with him. And, fortunately for the sake of Eames' sanity, and his unexpectedly restrained sex life, Arthur seemed to be making sure that they worked a lot of jobs together lately.

He still found himself wondering why Arthur was doing it. Even though he knew he ought to be grateful for what he was getting. It was just.... Well, it was a little humiliating knowing that Arthur preferred his fake blonde bombshell to the real thing. Yes, Eames had carefully constructed her to be desirable. And she truly was a work of art, clothed or naked. He could hardly fault Arthur for falling for her charms.

And yet.... While she might be exquisite, but she wasn't actually Eames, now was she?

Up to this point Eames had always thought he'd had a fair amount of pride, but now he was discovering a troubling dearth of self respect and self control where Arthur was concerned.

And yet, he didn't feel he could do a thing about it. This was the way things had worked themselves out, and he couldn't see any way to break free. Not without giving Arthur up entirely. And that was something that he was unwilling to do.

Colour him crazy, but Eames was willing to do whatever it took to keep Arthur. Even if Arthur wasn't really his in the first place... or last place.

***

"So, what's it like?"

Eames hid his grin behind his mug. He'd been waiting for little Ariadne to ask that question ever since the first time she had heard what his role during the Fischer job was going to be. Well, one role of many, to be true, but it was the one upon which the whole possibility of inception was based. If Eames as Peter Browning couldn't plant the initial idea in Robert's head, then the whole endeavour could very well prove to be useless.

"What's what like, love?" Eames asked smoothly, taking a sip of his cold tea. It was high time to refresh it, but Ariadne had finally worked up the courage to approach him, and he couldn't bring himself to walk away from her; even though he strongly suspected she would follow if he did. He did so love talking about himself, and any chance to discuss his favourite talent with someone of her intelligence was only to be pursued.

As well, time spent with him was time she was not spending with Arthur. Eames wasn't above a bit of petty jealousy, and he had to admit that he didn't care for all the time that Arthur was spending with their new architect, stunningly gifted prodigy though she may be.

"Well, forging," she said, and the little frown on her face was distressingly adorable. Not that Eames was at all tempted. She looked as though she still belonged in secondary school, and young girls had never been his kink. He was beginning to wonder whether she mightn't be someone else's type, though.... And he wasn't thinking of Cobb.

"Have you ever dreamt you were someone else?" Eames asked, because that was usually the simplest way to explain it.

"Well, yes," she replied, sinking into a chair beside the desk he was working at. Photos of Peter Browning were scattered over the surface, but Eames had really gotten all he needed while working beneath the man at Fischer Morrow. Honestly, right now he was just trying to look busy so that Arthur didn't find him something else to do. Ariadne might have sensed this, since she didn't seem to have any scruples about interrupting him. She was distressingly bright like that.

"But," she was continuing, her expression intent and focused in a manner he recognized from watching her work on her mazes, "Whenever I dream I'm someone else, I'm still me. I know it, and I'm pretty sure everyone around me in the dream knows it. Arthur says that to forge, you have to essentially lose yourself."

Eames quirked a brow. "Oh, he does, does he?" he asked, smooth as silk. "Better ask Arthur when the last time he forged was, and how successfully he pulled it off."

Ariadne gave him a crooked grin. "I don't have to ask; he already told me. He also said that if I really wanted to know anything about forging, that I should ask you, since you were the expert."

"Oh." Eames sat back in his chair, somehow mollified by this. It was so seldom that he received any credit from Arthur, much less an oblique compliment of sorts. Even secondhand like this, he had to pause a moment and savour it. "Smart boy."

"Hardly a boy," Ariadne said dryly, and her eyes were knowing as she gave Eames a tiny smile, just one corner of her mouth rising.

Eames wondered what that was supposed to mean, but he highly doubted she could have guessed what he and Arthur got up to in the dream-share. So it must only have been her own observations. And there was the hot jealousy again, but it had no place in this conversation, and so he set it aside.

"Well, you know that lucid dreaming is a lot different than regular dreaming."

Ariadne nodded. "A _lot_ different."

Eames had to smile at the sheer wonder in her voice. She was still young and new to it. Oh, Eames still felt the wonder, the joy in creating whole worlds out of a mere thought. And he knew that this was what kept Arthur coming back to it like a junkie when the man was intelligent and ambitious enough to have made his fortune a dozen times over in a dozen different ways -- many of them legal -- and retired by now. But even though they both still enjoyed it so much, there was nothing like being new to it, the way that Ariadne was. When it was still a miracle that occurred every time one went under.

"Well, it's the same thing with forging," he continued. "There's more control. There's more of an awareness of who you are, but a thicker mask to hide behind. Some forgers can only manage a thin seeming, one that crumples if the mark goes the slightest bit off script. But I'm a good deal better than that."

"I know," Ariadne said, even though she hadn't even seen him wear someone else's face yet. "Arthur says you're the best." She glanced over her shoulder at the man in question, who was on the other side of the warehouse talking to Cobb, and completely missed the look of stunned shock that Eames knew his face registered for a moment before he was able to pull himself together. "He also said not to tell you he said that," she continued, giving Eames a conspiratorial little smirk. "Oops. You didn't hear it from me."

Eames couldn't help the shit-eating grin that broke across his face, really he couldn't. He didn't even try to rein it in, knowing it was virtually expected of him. "Well," he said, eschewing false modesty. "He's not wrong."

"So it's sort of like acting?" Ariadne pressed, because of course she wasn't going to stop asking questions until her curiosity had been satisfied.

Eames let himself be diverted from his gloating, if only because he'd be coming back to it later, a new fond spot in his memory. It was one thing to know that he was the best forger that existed; it was quite another thing entirely to get this designation straight from Arthur's lips. Or, well, not _directly_. But he highly doubted Ariadne was having him on. He trusted her word, inasmuch as he ever trusted anyone. And he was pretty sure that he'd been able to figure out her tells, that he knew when she was fibbing. There was no reason for her to lie about this, and he was certain that she wasn't, even though he was surprised to discover that Arthur had been willingly talking him up.

"Not really," he replied, taking the subject seriously, because he knew that she wasn't going to leave off until she'd gotten what she wanted from him. "It's a good deal more complicated than that."

"But how?"

Eames grimaced. "Well, say you want to fool the mark into thinking you're someone they know."

Ariadne nodded. "Cobb told me that the _feel_ of things is more important than the details," she said, and Eames wasn't surprised that she had picked up on the point he was trying to make before he even made it.

"Exactly." He gave her a pleased smile. "You can get the face perfect, but if you call the person by the wrong pet name or smell of the wrong cologne, that can throw the whole thing."

Ariadne nodded, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Eames cataloged the move, even though he had no intention of ever forging their fledgling architect. It was something that he did; stealing bits and pieces of people he interacted with, for potential future use.

Hell, the blonde siren that he used for Arthur was a combination of the first girl he'd ever had a crush on, the second woman he'd ever had sex with, and his favorite barista in one particular Starbucks in New York. Mostly the second, which was where he'd taken her face, but there was a little of all three females, plus others. He'd even given her a name, as ridiculous as that was, though Arthur was never going to know that fact. He'd never asked that she be anyone other than Eames, and for that he was strangely grateful.

"On the other hand," he continued, "Sometimes when the dream is very intense, so long as you've got the basics right, the subject can fill in the rest. I've found myself in some very strange clothing and some even stranger situations when that has happened."

"But how much of it is you?" Ariadne wanted to know. "You said it was like a mask. But what about when you dream you're a woman? Cobb said you've done that before. He says you're really good at it."

Eames pulled a face. He didn't mind the compliment from Cobb, but it was kind of distasteful, going from thinking about the forge he used to have sex with Arthur to thinking about their mutual colleague. The fact that Cobb was a sexual being was obvious -- he'd had two children with his dear, departed wife, after all -- but Eames preferred not to dwell on that.

"You don't like forging women?" Ariadne had completely misread his expression, not that he blamed her. She seemed to think that Cobb hung the moon. But then, he _had_ been the one to introduce her to the dream-share. And she might not have half an idea how messed up he really was. Well, she would learn.

"Oh, darling, I _love_ forging women," Eames purred. "I wouldn't go so far as to call it my specialty, but it just might be."

That tiny little frown was quirked between her brows again. "But...."

"You say you've dreamt you were someone else," Eames said easily, taking another sip of his tea before he remembered it was cold. "Have you ever dreamt you were a member of the opposite sex?"

He knew not everyone did. He'd thought it to be pretty normal while he'd been growing up, going through puberty. But once he'd begun talking to people, in the dream-share business and out, he had come to realize that it actually wasn't as common as he'd always assumed.

"Sort of?" Ariadne's lips twisted, but not in distaste. "I mean, I've dreamt I was... someone that I knew was a male, when I was awake. But when I was asleep, it was just _me_. I didn't feel any different. I didn't dream I had a _dick_."

Eames laughed, ridiculously delighted by the force she had put into this blunt declaration. He did so like it when a girl showed a bit of spunk, and Ariadne was full of it. Well, she kind of had to be in order to deal with Cobb as often as she did.

Ariadne rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling slightly. She seemed bemused by him, which was a better reaction than some he'd faced from colleagues. Hell, it was better than the way Arthur looked at him most of the time.

"Listen to me, little love," Eames said softly, leaning in, speaking intimately. "With enough research you can forge a perfect, perfectly functional member of the opposite sex. And let me tell you just how much fun _that_ can be."

From the way her cheeks pinked, Ariadne got his meaning on this subject right away as well. He didn't have a chance to find out what she would have said in reply, though, because at this moment Arthur came over, putting a hand on her shoulder. Eames tried not to frown, but he was painfully aware that he probably wasn't very successful.

"Ariadne, Cobb needs to talk to Eames," he said, and Eames couldn't read anything into his even tone, hard as he might try. He was more than a bit irked, truth be told. No one liked being told to do something while being spoken of in the third person.

"Okay...." To her credit Ariadne sounded as confounded by Arthur's strange passive-aggressive approach as Eames was.

"Well, I've enjoyed our chat, but the master calls," Eames said, grinning at Ariadne as viciously as he could. She didn't seem to mind, and in fact looked as though she was moments away from another epic eye roll. "I hope I've answered your question sufficiently."

"You've certain given me some things to think about," she replied dryly, but her answering smile was as sharp as his had been, and there was a light in her dark eyes that he thought he recognized and understood.

"Then I take my leave," he said gallantly, rising and crossing the room without a further word to Arthur. Because two could play at that game, and Eames wouldn't lose anything to Arthur; especially face.

After this conversation with Ariadne, though, Eames _did_ feel a little less jealous, felt a little more charitable toward the young architect. Until, that was, he saw she and Arthur leaving together that evening.

Then all the jealousy came flooding back, and he wanted to punch something.

Preferably one of Arthur's flawless cheekbones.

Only... not really. And that made him feel even worse.

***

After that, Eames began keeping track. And the two of them, Ariadne and Arthur, left the warehouse together as often as not, which caused Eames' teeth to grind. He knew it was petty of him, but Arthur hadn't left with _him_ once during the job, hadn't invited Eames to his hotel room, and the only time they went under together was while they were working, with the others.

It occurred to Eames that he could be the one to invite Arthur, to suggest that they take the PASIV device he kept under his own bed and play their usual games.... But that wasn't the way they did things. That wasn't the way it had ever worked, and Eames wasn't prepared to risk making things worse than they evidently were already by changing the script that much. After all, what if he asked and Arthur said no?

He knew he wasn't really a woman, even though he was always the woman in the dream-share. And he never had approved of the trope of pure young maidens simply waiting passively for their dashing prince charming to come to them anyway. But there was just something....

Maybe it was because he needed this so much more than Arthur did, that this made him want to avoid coming off as too _needy_. Call it overcompensating, but there it was.

Eames might not be a woman, but he was willing to play one for Arthur. And it seemed that perhaps Arthur had decided he liked the real thing after all. Eames was a little bitter, but he tried not to hold it against Ariadne. After all, it wasn't her fault that she was petite and charming and everything that Eames was not. Not her fault, nor Arthur's, nor Eames'....

That didn't make it any easier for Eames to deal with in the privacy of his own mind, but he tried not to let it affect his job performance or his interactions with his colleagues. He was sharper than usual with Arthur, but he thought that he was decent enough to Ariadne. He only had it in him to shield one of them from the ill effects of his temper, and Ariadne deserved his ire far less than Arthur did. Even if, honestly, neither of them did.

Eames did take a certain perverse pleasure in using his leggy, busty blonde during the actual Fischer job, as a distraction. Showing that she wasn't only for Arthur, the same way Arthur wasn't only for him. But the joke was kind of on Eames, he had to admit, when she came out a little too plastic, her eyes a little too wide-set, and somehow nowhere near as beautiful as she usually was for Arthur.

It was probably just as well that Robert didn't seem very interested. Eames didn't feel guilty about flirting, first with Robert and then with Saito. But he did wonder what it said about how far gone he was that he hadn't been able to forge her properly for someone other than Arthur... that he didn't even try.

He was pretty much fucked. And once the job was over, he figured that Arthur was going to trot merrily off into the sunset, with or without Ariadne, but definitely without Eames.

This troubling realization nearly eclipsed the many ways in which Cobb seemed determined to do his best to wreck the inception and possibly get them all killed or lost to brain-scrambling limbo. Nearly, but not quite. Eames swore to himself he was never working with Cobb again after this, but honestly that was only sour grapes, considering that once they actually managed to pull it off -- through sheer brazen balls on all their parts and some steadfast stubbornness on Ariadne's part -- Cobb was unlikely to ever _want_ to work in the dream-share again.

Still, Eames was reduced to taking what he could get. And right now, after the Fischer job was finally over, it seemed that sour grapes was all he was going left with.

Or so Eames thought. And watching everyone disperse in LAX without speaking to each other certainly seemed to underline this. Oh, it wasn't as though he _saw_ Ariadne and Arthur leave together. But he kind of assumed it was going to happen. And Arthur wasn't going out of his way to catch Eames up, even though Eames lingered in one of the airport bars for a good hour after the plane had disembarked. Just in case.

Eames actually found himself wondering what he was going to do if Arthur never wanted sex from him again. Was he supposed to start sleeping with other people again? Could he even? It was a bit ridiculous to imagine that he couldn't, and yet the thought was so alien to him where he was right now... that he couldn't imagine that he might be able to, either.

It was really quite pathetic and yet Eames couldn't seem to affect any change in his thinking. Not right now, at any rate.

So he wound up getting himself a hotel room in Los Angeles and getting spectacularly drunk, sleeping it off, then doing it all over again. He couldn't think what else to do. He had no other jobs lined up and he needed a chance to relax, to let himself calm down after the near disaster that the Fischer job had devolved into, to dwell over the fact that they had performed an inception; successfully, from all evidence he could see.

Getting drunk and recovering from the inevitable hangover in a vicious cycle was honestly a pretty useless way of passing his time, especially when he wasn't even going out and having sex with anyone. But he didn't have anywhere to go, didn't have anyone to be with, and he lacked the energy to make the decision to leave.

He didn't need goals, but he _did_ need a destination.

He managed to convince himself that he was just biding his time until he got the money from Saito. But then he got paid, and he still had no inclination to move, to leave, to get going.

It came to him, slowly rather than as a bolt from the blue, that he was mourning. That this was his completely pitiful and ineffectual way of dealing with having lost Arthur.

And to a real woman, no less. That was what made it several times worse. He liked Ariadne, honestly he did, and he certainly couldn't blame Arthur for falling for her. The two of them suited one another, in so many different ways.

It was the fact that she was female that stung the most. Because Eames _should have seen it coming_. Arthur only had sex with Eames when he was a woman, in the dream-share. That should have told him something right there. Should have sent up warning bells in Eames' brain.

Instead, he had let himself ignore the signs, had let himself accidentally fall into a monogamous relationship... that was completely one-sided. Because Arthur certainly hadn't gotten the memo.

It wasn't that Eames resented Ariadne. He was just jealous, depressed, and felt... well, he felt really stupid. He should have known, right? If Arthur only wanted Eames when he was a woman, that was a huge clue that maybe it wasn't Eames that he wanted in the first place.

Eames now had a ridiculous amount of money and no real desire to do anything with it. Here he was, less than five hours from Las Vegas, with no impetus to gamble. He could afford to impress and bed any lovely young thing he desired, but had no desire for any but one. And that _one_ was.... Well.

He wasted five days in this manner, and they truly were wasted. It wasn't as though he didn't have things to do, people to see. He still had a profession, even if Saito's money would keep him out of the red for a while. He could be out there, _doing_ things. He _should_ be out there, doing things....

And so on the morning of the sixth day, he shook off his hangover, had a brisk hot shower, shaved, got dressed, and packed his scant luggage with the nebulous but developing idea of taking a plane... somewhere. Where, he wasn't sure yet, but it was well past time for him to get out of Los Angeles.

He was just checking his PASIV, making sure that it was in decent shape, and wondering if it would make him crazy on a level matching Cobb if he went under and tried to see if he could dream up a convincing projection of Arthur, when there came a brisk knock at his door.

Scowling and grabbing a gun, Eames made his way gingerly across the room. As far as he was aware no one knew he was here and there shouldn't be anyone visiting him. He hadn't ordered room service, he was paid through the end of the week, and this could only be a mistake or big trouble.

 _Maybe both,_ he found himself thinking blankly as he took a chance on peering out, and saw that it was Arthur standing before his hotel room, looking... well, looking the way he always looked. Calm, patient, in control, completely put together....

Tucking his firearm away, Eames opened the door. He fully intended on saying something snarky, but the reality of _Arthur standing here before him_ stole his breath away and killed his voice in his throat. It was ridiculous, really, and only underlined what he had already realized; he was hopelessly gone over Arthur. Sweet fuck all, he was screwed.

For his part, Arthur gave Eames a sweeping once-over, his perfect pink lips curving in a half smile, his eyes bright and clear as he said, "Glad to see that you're decent, Mr. Eames."

"Never that," Eames managed in a relatively normal tone of voice, and he even dredged up a wide grin that didn't feel too fake.

Arthur actually dimpled at this, and Eames felt his heart thump in his chest. He was supposed to be a jaded, cynical, self-centered bastard who would sell out anyone in order to save his own skin or even just to turn a profit... but in this moment he knew that he would do _anything_ to make Arthur look this pleased, all over again, and then again. And that pretty much shattered his mental image of himself forever.

But that didn't mean anyone else needed to know. Especially not Arthur. Heaven forbid Arthur ever discover the power he held over Eames!

"What are you doing here?" Eames asked, raising one eyebrow at Arthur. The words came out a little harder and less playful than he had meant, but he was doing his best to build up some protections against Arthur as quickly as he could. That wasn't going to be easy to do on the fly like this, but it was the only way he was going to survive.

"I may have a job," Arthur replied easily, not seeming offended or put on the defensive. He tilted his head slightly and gave Eames what might have been a coy look. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, yeah, sure." Eames stepped back, feeling flustered. Flustered was not him, and yet here he was. What he couldn't quite believe was that _Arthur_ was here as well, in his hotel room. But he wasn't dreaming and so this must be reality.

"Glad I caught you before you left," Arthur commented, shrugging out of his jacket, his sharp gaze running over Eames' luggage, all packed and ready to go. "What are you still doing in L.A., anyway?"

Eames shrugged. "Seemed as good a place to stay a while as any," he lied through his teeth. But he certainly couldn't tell Arthur the truth behind his recent, self-pity induced sojourn. "What about you?"

Arthur hung his jacket carefully over the back of a chair. "I was helping Cobb work through the details of his return home. Saito cleared the way, but there was still plenty that needed to be done."

Eames was surprised, though perhaps he shouldn't have been. "I didn't realize you two were so close," he said lamely.

Arthur shrugged, and Eames tried not to physically react to the clean lines of Arthur's shoulders under the striped material of his shirt. He'd missed Arthur.... He'd missed him even during the Fischer job, when they'd been working together, but the only times Arthur had paid him attention had been when Eames had needled him into reacting. God, he _missed_ Arthur. His Arthur. The one who _wanted_ Eames the way Eames wanted him, even if only in the dream-share in the shape of a busty blonde beauty.

"Saito did most of it," Arthur said diffidently. "But Cobb isn't always good with the details. The charges went away, but there was still a lot of paperwork to get through. And a lot of sweet-talking Marie Miles, to get her to drop all claims to the children."

Eames assumed that was Mal's mother. He only had passing knowledge of the situation, had the vague idea that it had been Cobb's mother-in-law caring for the children in American while Cobb ran all about the rest of the world, but that sounded about right. He felt belatedly that he ought to know more, considering that it was for those two kids that Cobb had pulled the whole job and nearly plunged his entire team into limbo.

"Everything squared away now?" he asked, trying to sound as though he cared.

Arthur nodded, and he wasn't smiling any longer, but he didn't look tense or unhappy. He seemed relaxed, certainly far more so than he had been during the entirety of the Fischer job. It was a good look on him. Eames approved, even though he hadn't been the one to put the look there.

"As much as it will ever be," Arthur replied. "I think Cobb is pondering relocating the family to France. That way they can see both their grandparents -- Marie is moving back now that she doesn't have to play guardian any longer -- and it'll get Cobb away from the country where he was wanted for murder for two years."

"That mightn't be a bad idea," Eames allowed, even though it didn't affect him one jot. "I spent several of my teenage years in France and it was a good experience." He didn't add that this might have been in large part due to the fact that it got him out of the family home and away from his father.... Arthur didn't need to know about that. Even though, admittedly, he might already know, if he had ever cared enough to look into Eames' past.

Arthur nodded again, and he was still standing there, looking perfectly at ease in Eames' hotel room, his jacket off but otherwise completely put together and Eames still didn't really know what he was _doing here_.

"So, where's Ariadne?" Eames blurted, unable to restrain himself from asking the question any longer. He hadn't even known that he was going to ask it until the words left his lips, but once asked, he didn't really want to take it back. It was sort of like picking off a scab, wasn't it. Painful, almost agonizing, but he _needed_ to know.

Arthur gave him a confounded look, but Eames couldn't tell if it as because of the question, because he'd had the balls to ask, or some other reason entirely.

"She had the school year to complete," Arthur replied, his brow wrinkling in a tiny frown. "She's still a student, remember? Even though she somehow blackmailed Cobb into bringing her along on the Fischer job." His face darkened momentarily. "I think I've got a fair idea of how she did that."

Eames was confused. It had been six days. And Arthur had remained here in L.A. while Ariadne had flown back to Paris? And yet Arthur didn't seem to mind too much, being apart from the young woman....

"I give it three weeks, a month and a half max, before she breaks down and contacts me," Arthur said, giving Eames a conspiratorial grin, as though this was something they ought to be joking about together. Eames was completely flummoxed.

"But aren't you--" He cut himself off before he said something completely stupid, because he had obviously misread the situation.

"What?" Arthur blinked at him, curious but quiet, like Eames was used to seeing him. Before the Fischer job, anyway. During that, Arthur had been more tetchy and on edge than Eames had ever seen him before. But then, Cobol had been after their hides, his and Cobb's, and Arthur hadn't truly believed that they could perform inception on Robert. It was no wonder that the point man had been wound so tightly.

"Nothing," Eames replied, shaking his head. He was by now fairly certain that he had completely misread the relationship between Arthur and Ariadne, and he wasn't about to humiliate himself by whining about being jealous. "It's nothing, really."

Arthur gave him a squinty look that might have looked more at home on Cobb's face, and Eames felt an actual physical ache in his heart. How he had missed the little crinkles at the corners of Arthur's eyes. The clean cut of his jaw. The sweet cupid's bow curve of his lips. Everything about him, Eames had missed. And now, here Arthur was. Standing before him. And Ariadne was in France.

Maybe there really had been no reason for Eames to feel heartbroken. Although, truth be told, now he was feeling more than a bit stupid instead.

"You look good, Eames," Arthur informed him quietly and his gaze was running over Eames much the same as Eames knew his had been running over Arthur a moment ago.

Eames scoffed, because he knew that this was a patent falsehood. He looked as though he was hung-over and had just cleaned himself up after nearly a week of boozing it up. On his own, no less. Nothing sadder than drinking alone, after all.

Also? He wasn't a leggy, buxom blonde in the waking world.

"What do you want from me, Arthur?" he asked, knowing that there had to be an ulterior motive if Arthur was delivering unprompted compliments. "We both know you wouldn't say something like that otherwise."

Arthur's brow wrinkled, and a quick, pained expression flashed over his face, as though Eames had somehow _hurt his feelings_. But that was impossible, right?

"Well, now that you mention it...." Arthur's tongue flickered out to wet his plump lower lip, and his eyes were heavy-lidded and dark as they slid over to the PASIV device on the bed.

Eames' brows rose. "I thought you didn't want me anymore," he said, before he could stop himself. And then he could have kicked himself for how ridiculous and childish that had sounded. Even if it _was_ true.

Arthur was frowning at him. "Why would you think that?" he asked, and he was already unbuttoning and rolling up his cuffs. Eames could feel his cock twitch in his trousers, trained to read those movements, to interpret this situation for where it was shortly going to lead. "When have we ever indulged _during_ the job, Eames?"

Eames stared at Arthur blankly. Now that Arthur had put it that way, he was forced to realize that the other man had a point. Normally, they worked jobs together that were much shorter and less complex than the Fischer job had proved to be. And most times, it was true, they kept their trysts restrained to just before or just after any given job.

"We _have_ ," he protested weakly, but he was already stripping off his jacket and undoing his own cuffs. "You know we have!"

Arthur smirked at him, then went over to get the PASIV set up. "Sometimes," he allowed. "But only during smaller jobs. And never when so much was riding on it."

Eames was beginning to get a glimmer. "So... you consider me to be a distraction?" he asked, strolling over to the bed, feeling his trousers tug teasingly against his growing erection. How he wished he could tumble Arthur to the mattress, strip them both, and get it on in reality... but Arthur wanted his female form, and Eames was just so thrilled to find that he hadn't lost Arthur to Ariadne after all, that he would do anything, _anything_ to make Arthur happy, to keep him enthralled.

Arthur tossed a hot glance over his shoulder, and his lovely trousers weren't fitting so well either. In the front, that was. The material hugged his glorious arse like a second skin, a view that Eames definitely took the time to examine and appreciate.

"I do," he replied, and it shouldn't have affected Eames so powerfully, hearing this affirmation from Arthur's lips.

Eames felt an overwhelming need to kiss those lips, and so he lay down on the bed quickly, grabbing the cannula Arthur handed him, strapping the band around his wrist with hands that he refused to note were shaking slightly.

Arthur lay to the other side of the silver case, and got himself similarly hooked up. There was always a slight risk to going under like this, just the two of them with no one remaining top-side to monitor their vitals and keep a weather eye out. But, on the other hand, neither of them would have wanted a third party in the room when they were going under to fuck. And so this was a calculated risk that they were both willing to take.

Arthur depressed the plunger, and for the first time since the Fischer job, Eames felt himself sinking into the realm of the lucid dream. He was going under with Arthur, and once he got there, Arthur would be waiting for him.


	2. Chapter 2

Eames came to awareness and found himself standing on a street corner in the dark. It felt like waking up, even though he knew damned well that he was deeply asleep and dreaming, but that was the way it always was. He was used to it by now, as were all who worked in the dream-share regularly.

There was no sign of anyone else, but that was all right. Eames would find Arthur, or Arthur would find Eames. The dream was never large, and they would both be looking for one another.

Eames took a moment to settle into his feminine body. It had been a while since he had worn her, aside from those brief minutes in Arthur's level of the Fischer job. Rather than a tight, tiny black number, he had on a thick heather-coloured sweater over a crisp white blouse, and a knee-length dun corduroy skirt with leather boots that covered half his calves. His long blonde hair was loose, curls tumbling around his delicate features, and he already knew without a mirror that he'd gotten the face right, that his forge looked beautiful and not plastic at all.

He knew how Arthur liked him to look in the dream-share, and since this was their first time together in far too long, he didn't intend to taunt or tease. He was dressed to be taken apart, and now he just needed to find Arthur, to do the taking.

The world around him was dark, the sky overhead clouded. He felt safe, though. They were in Arthur's dream, and Arthur wasn't going to let anything happen to him. Eames hadn't done anything to piss Arthur off lately, so he felt completely safe.

Sure, he'd poked at Arthur during the Fischer job, hoping to get a reaction, even a negative one if that was what he had to settle for. But it hadn't been anything _meant_ , and Arthur was sure to recognize this. Arthur was brilliant; he knew the difference between teasing and actual attacks. Their brief moment on the hotel floor before heading down to the third level had underlined that, setting Eames' mind at rest in that one intense instant.

He and Arthur may clash and quarrel, but they would always have one another's backs. Eames was sure of this, even if he wasn't completely certain that Arthur knew it.

A light mist began to descend from the dark sky, and Eames gave a little shiver. Time to find somewhere to wait for Arthur _indoors_.

Unless he ran into Arthur on his way indoors.

Eames mouth quirked, sliding up in a smirk that he knew was remarkably similar to the one he wore on his real face, up in the waking world. There Arthur came, striding out of the night, wearing a long overcoat, his slicked-back hair haloed in the mist and the illumination of a nearby streetlight. Eames could feel his heart pounding a bit harder, his blood singing as he watched Arthur approach. _God_ , he had missed this.

"A nasty night to be out alone," Arthur purred, coming to stand before Eames. Even in slight heels, even though his blonde beauty was tall for a woman, Eames had to look up at Arthur, and it always gave him a perverse thrill. In the real world, Arthur only had a few centimeters on him. Here, in the dream, there was a distinct difference in height.

"I'm not alone any longer, now am I?" he replied, taking a tiny step closer to Arthur, almost near enough to feel his body heat. When using this forge during the Fischer job he'd given her an American accent, figuring Robert would be more comfortable with that, but he knew that Arthur preferred that he speak normally while they were dreaming together, and so he did.

"No, you're not," Arthur agreed, and they fell into step easily, Eames' small hand tucked into the crook of Arthur's elbow, his skirt swirling around his thighs. He had been called a hedonist more than once, and he would certainly never argue the point. The truth was that Eames liked trying out different shapes, different sensations, and he thoroughly enjoyed -- and enjoyed repeating -- the ones that gave him pleasure. His knees were a little chilled, between the skirt and his boots, but he still thought that he quite liked this outfit.

Even better, he knew that Arthur liked his blonde bombshell in this outfit. That made it all the better.

He was looking forward to Arthur stripping these clothes off of him, but while they walked, he made sure he swayed the forgery's full, rounded hips just the right amount. Beneath the skirt his inner thighs rubbed lightly together, the skin so soft and smooth, and he could feel that his female body was already growing heated and moist, just from being this close to Arthur, from anticipation. It was always the same.

Thankfully, it was not a long walk.

The hotel they stopped in front of was much like the one they had used the last time they had dreamed together. In fact it was exactly the same, even though the city around them and the street they were on were completely different.

"This looks familiar," Eames said, smiling up at Arthur. The mist was threatening at any moment to become actual rain, and he was glad that they were only a few steps away from their destination.

"I still have the key," Arthur replied, pulling his free hand out of his coat pocket and brandishing a flashy bit of copper; an actual key and not a piece of plastic like so many hotels used these days. But of course. Arthur was a bit old fashioned; it was one of the things about him that appealed to Eames.

"Our same room," Eames breathed, smirking. He wondered if the sheets would still be stained and scented with their sweat and Arthur's semen, or if they would be pristine and new. Knowing Arthur's mind he suspected the latter, though he himself might have preferred the former.

Arthur led the way inside and they passed the concierge with a polite nod, which the man returned. Eames spent a moment wondering what it might be like if they walked through here with him in his real body, two strong men on their way to a similar tryst.... But it was no use thinking about things that weren't going to happen, and so he put the thought out of his mind.

Besides, they were in Arthur's dream so that was Eames' projection, and he highly doubted anything created by his _own_ subconscious would even hint at homophobia. He knew himself well enough to be sure that he had no deep seated issues with his flexible sexuality. Maybe when he had been younger, but no longer.

As they entered the elevator -- small and square, but just as elegant as the rest of the building -- Eames loosed his grip on Arthur's arm, stepping in front of him, and reaching up to lock his slender hands around Arthur's neck. He tugged lightly, and Arthur obligingly bent and claimed his mouth. No lipstick here in Arthur's dream, because Eames knew Arthur didn't like the flavour. Anyway, this forge's lips, like Eames' in his real body, were full enough not to need the paint.

It seemed like forever since they had kissed, Eames thought, as he pressed closer to Arthur. Arthur's lips might not be as thick as Eames', but they were perfectly shaped and plush and soft. Kissing him was definitely one of Eames' favourite things. Arthur smelled the way that only Arthur smelled; masculine and yet fresh, like expensive cologne and ocean air, somehow. His arms were strong and his large, graceful hands were sure on Eames' slim torso, his chest hard and firm where it pressed against this forge's rich breasts.

As much as Eames longed to press his own hard, masculine body up against Arthur's, to feel strength meeting and matching strength, to be close to the same size and height, he had to admit that there was something sensual and pleasing about being smaller and more delicate than Arthur, softer all over. Knowing that in this dream, in this body, Arthur was stronger than him, that he could do Eames some damage if he wanted. But knowing that instead Arthur would do whatever it took to protect him.

And he _did_ know that. Because there had been a few times, when they had been in Eames' dream rather than Arthur's, that they had stayed just a little bit too long and Arthur's projections had begun to turn on Eames. And even though they both knew that Eames was capable of taking care of himself, even whilst in the forgery of a slim young woman, Arthur had stepped in and beaten the hell out of his own projections to keep Eames safe.

It was touching, in a strange, deranged way. But then, most everything they did was strange and somewhat deranged.

"I notice you used this forge during the Fischer job," Arthur whispered against Eames' tingling lips when they finally broke for air.

Eames held back a wince. He should have known Arthur would call him on this fact. He'd waltzed right past Arthur and Ariadne in the hotel lobby, after all. And hadn't that fed the jealousy, seeing the two of them all cozy like that, even if he knew it was because Arthur was the only person other than himself that Cobb trusted to watch over Ariadne.

Not that Cobb had proved to be such a great guardian, after all, the way he had willingly taken Ariadne down into limbo with him, with no way to be sure she would be able to get out.

And Eames' jealousy had evidently been misplaced, though he, of course, hadn't known that at the time.

At this moment the elevator stopped, so he was spared having to answer immediately while they paced one another, headed for the room on this floor that was "theirs".

Eames considered the best way to reply. Letting Arthur know that he had used this body out of pique, due to completely unnecessary jealousy over a wrongly assumed relationship between Arthur and Ariadne... even if Arthur took that well, which Eames doubted, it would expose too much of the weakness that Eames knew he felt where Arthur was concerned. He wasn't ready to give that much up, even though technically he already had.

Just because Arthur held that much of Eames, that didn't mean that Arthur had to know this fact.

"I couldn't get her quite right," he deflected, reaching for Arthur's coat as soon as they were inside and stripping it away. He took heart from the fact that Arthur allowed him to do so, and was looking at him with the familiar calm, considering expression that was his default. There was a heat to his chocolate brown eyes, and a pink flush high on his cheekbones that Eames also took comfort in. Because, despite the direction this conversation had taken, Eames was still tremendously horny and a little bit desperate. It had been too long, even longer considering that he didn't take any other lovers. And it was comforting to see that Arthur still looked as though sex was going to happen.

"You've got her perfectly now," Arthur told him, his voice low and husky. His hands moved to cup Eames' breasts and even though he was feeling those long, lean fingers through the materials of a sweater, a shirt, and a bra, a flare of hot arousal shot through Eames, prickling over the surface of his skin, causing his nipples to harden, and dampening his panties even more than they already had been. He sucked in a sharp breath, pulling in the overwhelming scent, the musk of Arthur and his arousal, and he watched as Arthur's pupils dilated, knew that they matched his own.

"Just for you, Arthur," he husked, barely aware of what he was saying, but meaning what he said. "You know that in the end she's all for you."

"You are," Arthur said, because he didn't like when Eames spoke of his forgery as something separate, and Eames' felt his heart thump in this smaller, more narrow ribcage, even though Arthur didn't mean it the way Eames meant it. But then Arthur was ringing his arms around Eames' tiny waist, dragging him into the line of his body, and his mouth locked on Eames' again, hot and demanding and just the right side of violent.

Eames let out an involuntary little sound when Arthur's tongue thrust into his mouth and twined with his own. God, he'd missed this so much. Playing footsies with Arthur top-side was nothing compared to being locked in a passionate embrace down here. Even though it was all that he'd been able to snatch for himself while awake; during the Fischer job, anyway.

"I missed you," he whispered, before he even realized that the words were going to leave his lips.

"Missed this," Arthur whispered in return, and Eames soaked in the rich, husky arousal of his voice. Arthur's fingers slid down to flex over Eames' fine female arse through the material of the skirt he was wearing. One of Arthur's thighs nudged its way between Eames', causing him to let out a light groan and arch into Arthur's hard body, grinding into the hard muscles with a burst of suddenly increased pleasure and arousal.

" _Missed you_ ," Eames repeated, because he might be in a woman's form but he had balls enough to say it. And then he attacked Arthur's mouth with his own, because he didn't want to deal with the fact that Arthur wasn't going to return the sentiment.

All this kissing was nice, Eames had definitely missed it, but they were both still wearing far too much by way of clothing, and there was a nice big bed across the room, all ready to be rumpled and wrecked in the pursuit of pleasure. Very vigorous, very satisfying mutual pleasure.

Eames pulled away, took a step back, trailing his slender fingertips down Arthur's jaw, then tugged at his perfectly knotted tie. "Let's get you undone," he purred, licking his lips.

One corner of Arthur's lips lifted in a small smirk. His eyes were dark and hungry under heavy lids, and his hands had slipped up and around from Eames' rear to lock around his tiny waist instead. "Isn't that _my_ line?"

"Feel free to try," Eames challenged lightly, smiling up at Arthur while nimbly unknotting his tie and pulling it loose. It was lovely, made of expensive silk, but Eames didn't feel bad when he dropped it carelessly on the floor. This was only a dream, after all. He wasn't sure whether or not he'd do the same while waking... but it wasn't as though he was ever going to get a chance to find out. Arthur didn't tend to be too particular about his wardrobe when sex was involved, but that might just be in the dream-share. And Eames only knew from dream-share sex with Arthur, unfortunately.

Eames had barely managed to get the first button of Arthur's collar undone before Arthur was peeling the sweater over his head, forcing him to raise his arms in order to facilitate this. Eames considered this fair trade and didn't complain, just moved as directed.

He did, however, get his hands right back on the buttons of Arthur's shirt as soon as he was free of the sweater, and it was gratifying that Arthur moved just as quickly to unfasten the crisp white blouse that Eames had on.

Once Eames had Arthur's shirt undone, he slid his hands inside, quick and nimble as they were while waking, though a good deal smaller and softer. Arthur's torso was smooth and warm beneath delicate fingertips, hard because Arthur was all muscle. He might be lean, but he was easily as strong as Eames was in the waking world, and it was a pure pleasure to touch him, Eames thought, running his hands all over everything he could reach.

Instead of pushing Eames' blouse off his shoulders, Arthur reached around, unbuttoning and unzipping the skirt where it fastened in the back. So they weren't going to take it slowly... that was fine with Eames. It had been a while and he was, not to put too fine a point on it, gagging for it.

"Out of the boots," Arthur rumbled, sliding his hands under the waistband of the skirt and sending it to pool on the floor around Eames' ankles, his palms heavy and hot on Eames' hips, resting over the silky material of his panties.

Eames was amenable to getting bared as quickly as possible; after all, it had been just as long for him as it had for Arthur. Possibly longer, if Arthur had anyone on the side, if he and Ariadne _had_ gotten together, even briefly. But Eames didn't want to give that even one moment of consideration right now. Right now, here, Arthur was here and he was all for Eames.

Removing his boots meant that underneath his open blouse Eames was naked save for the matching, silky white undergarments he had on. Some marks liked his female forgeries in lace, but Eames always found it to be too ticklish to enjoy, even in the dream-share. Also, Eames thought that the opacity of the silk was more tantalizing than being able to see everything through lace; kept a bit of the mystery as it were. He felt fortunate in that Arthur wasn't particular about what lingerie Eames wore, so long as it was sexy, and so long as it eventually came off.

Eames gave Arthur a sidelong glance from under thick lashes, peering through a few errant curls. Arthur was unfastening his belt, but his gaze was fixed on Eames, running over the rich lines of his long, lean legs. Eames spared a moment to wish that he'd worn some hose, but pragmatism won out and he stripped off the blouse and then undid the bra he had on as he moved toward the bed.

Teasingly, he only did this once he had turned his back to Arthur. He was just enjoying the light, silken feeling of hair brushing against the skin of his shoulderblades when a sudden wall of warmth moved up against him. Arthur's hands closed over Eames' breasts again, this time from behind, and this time they were beautifully bared. Eames let out a soft little breath and leaned back into Arthur as he cupped and caressed the under-sides, thumbs running over nipples that were immediately hard and aching. Even as large as Arthur's graceful hands were, they couldn't contain all of Eames' generous breasts. Arthur made a good effort, though.

"Mm," Arthur hummed in Eames' ear, his hips pushing against Eames' rounded arse, his hardening cock more than a bit obvious, his fingers flexing on the supple swells of his breasts. "I didn't tell you to take off the bra yet."

Eames grinned, reaching around a little awkwardly to grab at Arthur's thighs through the quality material of his trousers. "No, you didn't," he agreed, because since when did Arthur give all the orders in the bedroom? Or, rather, since when did he expect Eames to obey? "And yet you seem to be quite appreciative of the fact that I did so."

Underlining his words, he ground back into Arthur's erection. Loosing his grip on Arthur's flanks, he instead reached up to place his smaller, slimmer hands over Arthur's, where the man was still holding Eames' breasts. Eames' hands were warm, but Arthur's were warmer, as it always was. Arthur must be a sheer joy to curl up next to in cold winter weather, Eames thought with a distressing amount of what he realized was actual fondness.

Arthur's chuckle gusted through the curls at Eames' temple, his lips pressing warm and soft against the thin flesh there, and he squeezed Eames' breasts almost painfully before letting go completely, leaving them feeling chilled and bereft. "Get on the bed," he directed, placing his hands on Eames' shoulders and giving Eames a very gentle push in that direction.

Eames gave half a moment's consideration to disobeying this direct instruction, just on principle, but his knees were feeling a little wobbly, and the bed was where he wanted to be -- with Arthur, of course -- and so he graciously gave in.

Sinking onto the mattress, he shot a steamy glance over at Arthur. Arthur had already removed his belt, but he was only just now moving to unzip his fly. His shirt was still on, open down the front, revealing a thin strip of his chest and belly. Once he'd stepped out of his trousers, Arthur paused a moment to fiddle with his sleeves, removing his cufflinks, then shrugging out of the shirt entirely. He was wearing silky boxers that matched the white panties Eames had on, and once he had his shirt off these pants were all he had on, much as Eames only wore the panties. The material was thin and slick, and it was clinging to the crown of Arthur's cock in an especially delicious, rather wonderfully obscene way.

Eames licked his lips unconsciously, his gaze rising to meet Arthur's. One corner of Arthur's mouth was curled up, dimple twinkling, and Eames felt something tighten in his chest, something dangerously close to one particular emotion. Eames had missed this, had missed Arthur, and it was about more than sex, as much as he didn't want to admit that to himself.

"Join me," he directed huskily, because Arthur wasn't the only one who could give orders in the bedroom. Not that Eames didn't think that the bed was where Arthur was headed. Sometimes Arthur might putter about, toying with things, folding his clothes, making Eames _wait_... but not now. Not when it had been so long for both of them.

Hell, he hadn't even bothered to set his cufflinks aside carefully, had just dropped them in his shirt's breast pocket before taking off the shirt and letting it fall to the floor. Even though this was only a dream, Arthur usually took more care than that, out of habit if nothing else. Tonight, though, was something different.

Eames could have, if he'd wanted, counted it down to the last day, the last hour that he and Arthur had been in bed together. Well, technically it had been a shower, decadent and steamy in a richly appointed bathroom that Eames had dreamed up for them. He knew exactly how long it had been, wouldn't have had to think very long to come up with a hard number.

Leaning back into the pillows and opening slim, pale arms as Arthur climbed onto the mattress and over Eames' prone body, Eames took a moment to enjoy the heaviness of his breasts, the way gravity wanted to pull at them, even as pert as they were. He felt a little sorry for anyone who had never dreamt they were a member of the opposite sex, but that was _their_ loss. Eames enjoyed it on so many different levels, and he was grateful for the PASIV technology, which allowed him to share this ability and enjoyment with others. With Arthur.

Well, there _had_ been others, of course. Loads of others. But now there was only Arthur. It had only been Arthur for... for _years_. Eames didn't want to dwell on that, and so he didn't. He had other things to focus his attention on right at the moment anyhow.

Namely, Arthur in the here and now, who was coming to rest atop Eames' smaller, more curvy body as if he belonged there.

Even though they both knew damned well that Eames could take Arthur's full weight, his forge being far more sturdy than she looked, Arthur carefully propped himself up on his elbows. Eames would have smirked at this, but Arthur was suddenly too busy kissing the breath out of his lungs... which in turn made him grateful that Arthur _had_ gone to the trouble of bracing himself above Eames' prone body. The bastard always had to be one step ahead.

Eames had his smooth white thighs spread around Arthur's lean hips, and Arthur's belly was a teasing weight just a little to the north of where Eames really wanted it to be. Figuratively speaking, of course; though if anyone would bother to have actual compass points in their dream it would be Arthur, Eames thought with slightly irreverent amusement.

Eames was still in the white silk panties, and Arthur had on his boxers, which might have seemed a little silly when they were very shortly going to be meshing their genitals together in the usual way that men and women did, but Eames for some reason found it to be strangely sexy. Even though, yes, he was longing to get his hands, mouth, and other body parts on Arthur's impressive cock.

That it was glorious, Eames was well aware. And even though he hadn't yet seen it while waking Eames was quite certain from close observations of Arthur's well fitted trousers topside that Arthur did not exaggerate his endowments in the dream-share, as some men had been known to do in the past. Arthur's cock truly was impressive. Large _and_ lovely. Eames was quite attached to his own tool, pun not completely intended, and it was still a little odd to see Arthur without his foreskin even though Eames had bedded more than a few Americans in his time, but he had to say that second to his own, he thought Arthur truly had one of the most gorgeous cocks he'd ever seen.

And the fact that he was not only allowed, but oft times entreated to put it in his mouth, to take it into his body -- even if it was a female forge and only in the dream-share -- well, Eames wasn't going to take that for granted. Not for a moment. Not when he had so very nearly lost this privilege. Or... at least had _thought_ himself to be on the verge of losing it. Even though he had evidently been wrong, his angst had been distressingly real.

This, then should have been all the more reason that Eames ought to have been eager to get Arthur out of his silken boxers, right? And yet, having Arthur stretched out over top of him, his weight pressing Eames into the mattress in subtle sexual dominance, that was something that Eames just couldn't bear to give up, not right at this moment.

He slid slim white arms up and around Arthur's neck, perfect pearly nails tracing over the flesh of his shoulders, drawing gooseflesh in their wake. Arthur shivered against him, and then bent his head in order to claim Eames' plump pink lips with a certain amount of vehemence.

Eames felt that this was justified and he was pleased that he had been able to engender the exact reaction that he had sought. But, of course, nothing pleased him more than the twist of Arthur's tongue in his mouth, toying with his own, tantalizing, taunting.

Arthur shifted so that his hands were heavy and warm on the bones of Eames' shoulders, holding him delicately but firmly. Such a thing shouldn't have been possible, was paradoxical, and yet Arthur managed it, as he always managed to do difficult or impossible things.

Eames wanted to tease him about being amazing, but he was afraid of the words coming out with too much honesty. And, besides, having Arthur's tongue in his mouth kind of curtailed any other oral activities, such as speaking.

Realizing that he'd let his own attentions to Arthur's fine, firm body flag, Eames spread his graceful hands, letting his soft palms travel over the planes of Arthur's back and hips. He couldn't help longing to get his _real_ hands on Arthur, to touch all this delicious flesh in reality, but he wasn't about to spit in the face of what he had. Not when it was so much more than he had once thought that he would be able to get. Not when it was more than he had feared less than an hour ago that he would be left with.

Eames was just beginning to ruminate over the twists that had brought them here, when Arthur unexpectedly moved, easily grasping Eames' slim waist and rolling them both so that it was Eames' smaller body over top of his.

"Ooh, I do love a bit of manhandling," Eames cooed, smirking down at Arthur. They were both flushed and Arthur's hair was starting to come free of the pomade. Eames doubted he'd ever had a lover this beautiful, this desirable. Ever.

"How do you manage to make that sound sexy instead of ridiculous?" Arthur asked, grinning up at him. Eames had missed seeing that smile during the Fischer job. He didn't think even little Ariadne had gotten many smiles out of the point man while they had been working on inception, and he felt honoured and selfish at the same time. As much as he wanted Arthur to always be happy, at the same time he didn't want anyone else to see this gorgeous smile, didn't want Arthur flashing those adorable dimples at anybody but Eames.

"Sheer talent, darling," Eames said, his own smile becoming decidedly predatory as he reared back slightly, stretching his spine, proudly displaying the breasts that he was confident were completely perfect. Round and full yet perky, pale and lightly veined, ever so slightly asymmetrical, with little pink nipples.... Eames really was grateful for the fact that he was bisexual, because if it hadn't been for previous experiences with females he'd never had been able to get the breasts right, much less the pussy. And he'd have hated to be less than perfect in any way for his Arthur.

"No doubt," Arthur replied, and his smile was gone, but his expression was even more predatory than Eames' as he reached up to grasp and squeeze Eames' breasts. Eames let out a low noise of pleasure that absolutely wasn't a moan, and ground his hips down into Arthur's hard belly, feeling the panties he was wearing moving slick against the heated flesh of his artistically crafted pussy.

Oh, Arthur might mock, but there was definitely a lot of skill involved in forging a convincing woman. As easy as it was for Eames to dream he was a member of the opposite sex, dreaming it well enough to convince someone _else_ was much more difficult.

And he wouldn't have had it any other way. It was a challenge Eames was glad to accept, and it made him extra special in a profession where most everyone was exceptional, had to be in order to survive and thrive. Eames liked having something he could do that few others could. He also liked being able to use this ability, this talent, to bring Arthur pleasure. It would have seemed a dreadful waste to do otherwise.

Arthur was thumbing at Eames' nipples again, and this sent shivery tingles of sensation through Eames, skittering over the surface of his skin, but he was more concerned with the itch that it had sparked to life in his groin, the wet throb of his cunt against the cotton lining of his silk panties.

Those really had to go. Honestly, he had no idea why they were still on.

"Hold on a moment, Arthur," he breathed, giving an involuntary little hitch of his pelvis against Arthur's stomach for an instant before he forced himself to move away, swinging one long, graceful leg over until he was on the mattress beside Arthur's prone body.

Arthur didn't protest, watching with dark, avid eyes as Eames squirmed, divesting himself of the panties and dropping them over the edge of the bed with a mild flourish. The cool air of the hotel room did nothing to douse the heat in his wet pussy; in fact Eames quite enjoyed the change in temperature, though he didn't go so far as to spread his creamy thighs. A girl had her modesty, after all, even if said "girl" was no girl, had never been such, and was anticipating being pounded into the mattress very shortly.

"Let's get these taken care of as well," he purred, reaching for Arthur's boxers. They were doing a very poor job of hiding his erection, and he lifted his hips obediently as Eames dragged the elastic of the waistband down.

Eames supposed that it might brand him as a bit of a slut, the way his mouth started to water as soon as he had Arthur naked, stretched out on the mattress before him, and there, right _there_ was Arthur's hard cock, all for him. But he was only a slut for Arthur, and what was slutty about that?

He preferred to think of it as being eager.

Eames wrapped both his hands around the hard length of Arthur's cock, reveling in the contrast of long, pale fingers against the blood-flushed skin. It might have been even more sexy, getting his _real_ hands on Arthur, his strong fingers touching and taking in the waking world, but that was neither here nor there. Right now he was in his female body, this was what he could have, and within a moment he had lowered his head to firmly lick at the wet tip of Arthur's erection.

Arthur groaned, his hips shifting involuntarily toward Eames, and there were blonde curls brushing against the flat skin of his belly where Eames was bent over him.

Eames smirked, tasting Arthur rich and salty on his tongue, but before he could move to take Arthur's cock completely in his mouth, deepthroating it as he was planning, Arthur was in motion. And then Eames was in motion in turn, the phantom ache of hard hands stinging where Arthur had gripped him, and he was lying on his back on the mattress again. Only this time they were both naked.

"That wasn't my plan," Eames said mildly, ringing an arm around Arthur's shoulders as he dipped down to kiss Eames quickly, lightly. Almost certainly tasting himself on Eames' lips, and this thought had Eames gasping and squirming with a burst of arousal that was mental rather than physical.

But then Arthur's hand was huge and hot between Eames' thighs, nothing shy nor hesitant about the intimate caress, bringing Eames' mind back to the physical, and Eames arched, letting out a small sound of pleasure before he could stop himself.

"Are you disappointed?" Arthur asked, kissing a searing line down the extended curve of Eames' neck, the words gusting wet and wicked against this sensitive flesh. "You can blow me later, if you like."

All Eames did in reply to this was laugh, as low and throaty almost as his real voice, because there was going to be a later, and he was most certainly going to blow Arthur. That was one of the benefits to having sex in a dream, in a female body. No need for condoms and lube, so there was nothing to stop him from going down on Arthur after Arthur had been inside of Eames' body.

Even though one of his hands was still buried between Eames' legs, clever fingers stroking the throbbing, moist folds there, Arthur made a point of kissing and licking his way down Eames' chest, his free hand gripping one full breast, thumb tracing spirals against its swell.

Eames didn't like having his nipples sucked, not in the waking world, and especially not here in the dream when he was in a female form. He considered it to be primitive and infantile, not sexual, even though he was not a real woman, would never nourish a baby this way.

And whether Arthur knew this or not -- Eames had never articulated it, but Arthur was almost preternaturally attuned to his body language, so nothing he figured out would surprise Eames -- he never did dwell overlong on Eames' nipples. When he did lick at them, it was with broad sweeps of his tongue that sent a hard spike of arousal straight into Eames' groin. He mouthed at the curves, teeth hard and lips soft, but then he was done, and Eames was left tingling and feeling as though Arthur truly appreciated all the work he had put into making those ripe breasts perfect for him.

Eames was so distracted he almost didn't notice the finger that Arthur slid into him... only that wasn't anything close to the truth, now, was it. There was no way that something like _that_ was slipping past his notice, not when everything below the waist was overstimulated and ever so ready for this. It was no intrusion; Eames _wanted_ Arthur in his body. Though, to be fair, he wanted far more than just one finger.

"No... no teasing, Arthur," Eames gasped out, grasping at Arthur's bare shoulders. He could feel Arthur grin against his ribcage, the bastard, then he nosed at one of Eames' breasts, and then, _then_ he was back up where he belonged, claiming Eames' lips all over again, and there were two fingers inside now, moving easy and languid, Arthur's thumb brushing over curly pubic hair right above Eames' aching clit, only the hair, not the flesh, and what was _that_ if it was not teasing?!

"You asshole," Eames ground out, trapping Arthur's hand between thighs that were as well-muscled as they were smooth and creamy. "I said no teasing!"

"I don't remember agreeing to that," Arthur murmured against Eames' lips, his tone far more amused than Eames felt he had any right to be, all things considered.

"Asshole," Eames muttered, though he did loose his tight grip on Arthur's hand, letting his legs fall open once more.

Arthur rewarded this by shifting, slotting his own body between Eames readily spread thighs a second time. Only now they were both naked, and if Arthur teased any more Eames was going to flip him and ride his hard cock, even if it meant tying him to the bedframe in order to do so. It certainly wouldn't be the first time for that, Eames thought with a smirk.

That kinky and admittedly tempting scenario didn't prove to be necessary, as Arthur said, "Ready?" then sank into Eames' wet pussy in one long, hard stroke without waiting for than answer. Not that any answer would have been in the negative, as they both well knew.

Eames moaned, the sound dragged out of him without any intent, raising one thigh up high around Arthur's waist to give him better access, to urge him in deeper. This was what Eames had been wanting all this time, what he had missed during the periods of time when they were not fucking. Monogamy kind of sucked, Eames thought vaguely, but it might well be worth it when Arthur could make him feel like this.

"God, so good... so perfect..." Arthur breathed in Eames' ear, following this declaration up with a hot twist of his tongue that drew a throttled groan out of Eames, that caused Eames to arch into the hard line of Arthur's body, clinging tightly to him.

Eames sometimes wondered just how close he was to getting this whole "being a woman" thing down. After all, he really had no way of knowing what it was like to be a female, natural dreams and imagination aside. The guys that he'd fucked while in a feminine forge had sworn that it hadn't been any different than fucking a real woman, which he took as a testament to his talents and his efforts. But how could he be sure that what _he_ felt was anything close? He really had no way of knowing, and so he found himself wondering sometimes.

Now was not one of those times, of course. Right now it felt good, felt fucking _amazing_ , and that was all that mattered. That and the fact that it felt good for Arthur, which was also important.

"Yes," Eames huffed against Arthur's flushed cheek, holding on tightly with both arms and legs, moving with Arthur as he began to thrust in earnest, letting Arthur drive him down into the mattress as he had been wanting ever since they had entered the hotel room... since well before that... since directly after the last time they had fucked, in all honesty.

There was really no way to have sex elegantly -- outside of the occasional handjob that was executed with perfect precision, Eames thought -- but by the time they were this deeply into it, hips thrusting and hands clinging, breath coming in small cries and low panting, it hardly mattered. All that mattered was the mutual goal they were working toward. All that mattered was both claiming and granting all the pleasure from one another's bodies that they could manage. All that mattered was the moment, and the person they were screwing.

Arthur was a most conscientious lover, Eames already knew. Always making certain that his partner came before he took his own pleasure, except on the rare times that Eames had riled him up past the point of all reason. Of course, he might not be so with a male lover; Eames had no way of knowing. But right now Eames was in his female forge, and he could tell from the way that Arthur was rhythmically driving into him that Arthur fully intended for Eames to get off before Arthur did.

Eames -- and, by logic, Arthur as well -- never had to worry about clitoral stimulation while fucking in the dream-share. Eames' entire genital region was awash with sensation and sexual arousal. Eames couldn't be certain how it worked for real women, but being fucked hard with a thick cock was everything that he could have ever desired. He wrapped himself around Arthur, simply holding on and losing himself in the waves of rising pleasure that shook his delicate female body.

When it came, Eames' orgasm almost took him by surprise. He felt that it was only Arthur's arms around him that kept him from shaking apart. A thin cry made its way from his throat, his spine arching, and he trembled, shivering and shuddering his way through it as it overwhelmed all his thoughts, all his senses, turning him into a being of pure sensation, pure experience.

Arthur finished deep inside of Eames' body, with one last thrust and a low shuddering moan... and that was almost as good as coming again, Eames thought. Arthur collapsed onto Eames, both of them gasping for air and shuddering together in the aftermath, and Eames didn't loose Arthur from his tight embrace, even when Arthur carefully slipped out of his throbbing pussy and shifted so that they were laying on their sides, face-to-face, curled close, their breath and their sweat intermingling.

"Thank you," Arthur murmured against Eames' brow, a heavy hand stroking through long blonde curls a little clumsily, his other hand spread against the indent at the small of Eames' back, holding Eames as closely as Eames was holding him.

"Don't be silly," Eames sighed, smiling despite himself, because it was so ridiculous for Arthur to thank Eames for doing something Eames so badly wanted, and yet that was the way that Arthur very often was.

They said nothing further for long moments, and Arthur pulled Eames close. Eames could feel the satisfied pulsing of his female sex, the ever so slightly chafed skin of his inner thighs, could still feel the lingering imprint of Arthur's hands on his slim shoulders, where Arthur had held him tightly in order not to send Eames' smaller body sliding across the bedcovers.... And it was all so exquisite. Not as immediate and overwhelming as the active sex had been, but this closeness afterward had become such an integral part of the experience that Eames almost thought that he could no longer have gone without it.

He'd never been one for cuddling before.... But somehow Arthur made him break all his own rules. And there was just something so satisfying about resting warm and comfortable in the circle of Arthur's arms, his cheek pressed against Arthur's chest, their arms locked around one another.

Arthur leaned down to kiss Eames, light pressure of lips on lips, and Eames gave passing thought to the promise he had made to blow Arthur. But there was something serious and focused about Arthur's expression, and coming so soon after orgasm, this couldn't fail to set Eames a bit on edge.

"What is it?" he whispered, reaching up and trailing pearl-polished fingertips along the powerful line of Arthur's jaw.

"There's something I want to tell you," Arthur said, and Eames automatically frowned a little. Not because he didn't trust Arthur. More because he had never had a good conversation that had started out with those words.

"What is it?" he asked, withdrawing his hand, but not moving away from Arthur.

"I kissed Ariadne, in the dream, during the Fischer job," Arthur said, the words precise and crisp, but a line etched between his brows. Eames couldn't read Arthur's expression now and this bothered him more than he wanted to admit to himself. Arthur continued; "It was just a ruse, to try distracting the projections."

"And did it work?" Eames asked, because the only other question that came to mind was, _"Why are you telling me this?"_ And he didn't want to ask that, nor did he want that question answered.

"Not really. It was after you used this body to distract Robert Fischer," Arthur said, running a hand over said body, lingering over the dips and swells, toying with the sensitive bits.

"Ah," Eames replied, which wasn't incredibly articulate, but he had just had a mind-blowing climax and, besides, he was trying to make sense of what Arthur had done... as well as why exactly Arthur had felt compelled to _tell_ him about it.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, simply and easily.

"I can't imagine why," Eames responded before he'd thought, completely confounded by both the impromptu confession and the apology.

Arthur stared at Eames for a moment, then he shook his head and sighed heavily, as though Eames had disappointed him somehow. He extricated himself from Eames' clinging limbs and got up off the bed. Eames did nothing to try and stop him. Arthur went into the bathroom where, after a moment, the shower started up.

Eames wasn't sure whether he was invited, or even welcome, and so he simply lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He listened to the water pounding against both the tiles and Arthur's body in the shower. This intermingling with the rain that had begun striking the window of the hotel room at some point while they'd been fucking, until Eames could hardly tell the sounds apart.

While Arthur washed all traces of their tryst away, Eames lay and waited for the timer to run down on the PASIV device.

It seemed to take a lot longer than usual for some reason.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Original" characters here shamelessly borrowed from "Doctor Who". This is not a crossover; the characters in question simply based off of "Dr Who" characters. I don't feel that any lack of knowledge about that show will harm the enjoyment of reading this part; at least I sincerely hope not.

Arthur indeed had a job offer for Eames, hadn't just been using that as an excuse to get inside his hotel room and his silky white panties, much though Eames and his ego might have wished to believe otherwise.

Still, the truth of the matter was that Eames was grateful for the offer. Not only would it mean more time spent in Arthur's company in the near future, but it also meant that Eames didn't have to go out and put forth the effort to find work himself. He was still recovering from his self pity induced bender, and so taking a nice quiet trip to a destination already chosen by Arthur, working with people that Arthur had already vetted... well, that was pretty damned close to ideal.

Then Arthur told him who the extractor was going to be.

The first thing Eames did when he heard the name was laugh himself nearly ill. The second thing he did was accept the job. Because not only had it been a dog's age since he had last seen Jack, but the man was always good for some real entertainment at the same time he ran a tight ship. So to speak; the captain's title that he sometimes boasted was certainly not anything he had earned.

Arthur was, of course, deeply suspicious as to the cause of Eames' laughter, but he was slightly mollified by how promptly Eames agreed to join him on the job.

"Is there something I should know about this extractor?" Arthur asked, frowning at Eames across the cafe table and their decimated lunch plates.

After waking from the dream-share Arthur had smoothly invited Eames out to eat and Eames had just as smoothly accepted. Now that Arthur was here with a job lined up for them both he was in no hurry to grab his luggage and get out the door so he'd simply left everything where it was, since he still had the room for several more days. He'd simply gotten in Arthur's hired car and they had found a nice place nearby to eat.

Things had seemed to be fairly normal between them once they were awake, which was a relief for Eames at the same time it confounded him. He still wasn't sure whether he had said or done something wrong -- or _not_ said or done something, perhaps? -- after Arthur's unexpected confession. So while he was glad he wasn't being punished for something he didn't understand, he was still feeling a little out of sorts and he wasn't sure whether he might not be the only one. Arthur really was a better actor than most everyone gave him credit for being.

Eames knew better, of course. He might be a lovesick fool where Arthur was concerned, but he was a canny fool, who almost never underestimated the man he was in love with.

Eames shook his head, grinning. "Nothing you won't find out when you meet him," he replied. Because it might be cruel of him, but if Arthur hadn't worked with Jack before, Eames certainly wasn't going to warn him what he was in for. Hell, it would have been more trouble than it was worth to try. Jack kind of defied description. It would be far more fun for Eames to stand back and watch the coming encounter. He had no idea how it might play out, but that was part of Jack's charm; his complete and utter unpredictability.

And, honestly, Eames felt that he could say the same about Arthur. A lot of people thought of Arthur as being steady, reliable, boring.... But Eames knew the truth; that Arthur was anything other than these things. Especially after the strange abortive discussion they had just had in the dream-share.

Eames was well aware that he had dropped the ball on that one, but he wasn't sure _how_ he had done so. Arthur hadn't seemed angry or upset at him, it was true. On the other hand, Eames hadn't been invited into the shower and they hadn't had sex but the once, which was not the norm during their dream trysts. And, although the change was small, Arthur was definitely treating Eames a bit more formally than he usually did when they were alone together. It wasn't anything Eames could call him on, but it was definitely there.

Honestly, Eames wasn't sure how to categorize what the two of them had. He wouldn't say they were friends, definitely wouldn't call them lovers, but they were more than mere colleagues. He never took anything for granted between them, but there _was_ something there. When it was just the two of them, no one watching, and no stresses from doing an "impossible" job, Arthur treated Eames warmly, kindly, almost as though he _liked_ him. And Eames generally returned this treatment in like manner. Because he actually did like Arthur.

Perhaps some might call them friends, though Eames wouldn't have used that word to describe what they were to one another. It might look that way from the outside, but Eames knew better. It was complicated, Eames supposed, but he also knew that both he and Arthur liked things complicated. Neither of them like to be bored. Just one of the many things they had in common.

"Jack isn't an ex, is he?" Arthur asked, one brow rising.

Eames blinked, wondering what expression he might have been wearing in that moment, that Arthur had gone _there_. Affection toward Arthur, perhaps? Just as well, then, that Arthur had misread it.

"Not... exactly," he said, not wanting Arthur to get the wrong idea, but not trying to completely snow him. Doing so had never ended well for him in the past. He grinned and shook his head. "Jack's not the sort to be anyone's ex, seeing as he's not the sort to commit. I haven't seen him since--well, in a good four years. I doubt he's changed much, though."

Eames had almost said, "since you and I started sleeping together," but that would have given too much away. Part of him wanted to assure Arthur that he had nothing to worry about, but the larger, more intelligent part of him knew that Arthur wasn't _going_ to worry, and so there was no reason to say anything so foolish, to give so much of himself and his own feelings away.

Arthur looked... well, he looked equal parts intrigued and annoyed. Eames tried not to grin more widely. He suspected that Arthur was going to be wearing that expression quite often during this coming job.

"I'm glad you're bringing me in on this," he offered, hoping Arthur wouldn't take it the wrong way, whatever the wrong way was.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Eames, the familiar expression suiting him so much better than it did Cobb, and Eames smiled back, knowing he looked more than a bit foolish, but unable to help himself. What was he if he was not a fool? A fool for Arthur.... He would readily admit to that, if only in the privacy of his own mind.

At any rate; a chance to spend more time working with Arthur, to see Jack again, and to watch the two of them interact?

Eames wouldn't have missed it for the world.

"I'm very much looking forward to it."

Arthur glowered a little, but that was really all that he could do.

***

The first time they'd had sex it had been nothing that Eames had anticipated or planned, but afterward he been left with the distinct impression that Arthur had orchestrated the whole thing. Only that was rubbish, wasn't it? Because why would Arthur have deliberately manufactured events that would get him into Eames' appropriately feminine panties?

That had been three years ago. They hadn't either of them been new to the dream-share, but they had been relatively new to one another. It had been their second job working together, and Eames had been sure of only two things. One, that he was incredibly attracted to Arthur and would have been willing to do just about anything to get into the point man's perfectly tailored trousers. And, two, that Arthur didn't like him very much.

Which had made it all the more confusing for Eames when they had ended up tumbling into bed with one another.

Certainly Eames had been surprised. He had thought that Arthur was less surprised, though with Arthur it was always hard to tell. He tended to be so calm and collected about everything that it was tough to get a real reaction from him. Eames had tried, and he would never stop trying, and sometimes he succeeded, but the fact was that most of the time the workings of Arthur's inner mind were a complete mystery to him.

Enigmatic, some had called him. Eames preferred to think that Arthur would be easy enough to read if only he had the key, or if Arthur somehow _let_ him understand. But that had yet to happen, and it certainly hadn't happened by the time of their second job together, three years ago.

And so, when their silly architect had tripped and fallen off the skyscraper they'd been working on perfecting, leaving the two of them alone in Arthur's dream with time yet on the PASIV device, and Arthur had suggested they head inside, Eames had gone along with completely innocent intentions.

After all, dying in the dream-share was disconcerting and Eames tended to try to avoid it wherever possible. Yes, a person woke in the real world after biting it in a dream. But for at least that one instant in time the brain legitimately thought that the body was dying. And so far as Eames was concerned that couldn't be good for the subconscious or even for the conscious mind. It was generally very unpleasant, in his experience.

Arthur seemed to be of the same mindset, and since they had almost an hour of dream time to wait out -- unless their architect ceased being an airheaded ninny and shut off the PASIV device, which Eames felt was unlikely -- they might as well pass it in comfort. Eames felt that he was in good company, even if he suspected Arthur did not feel the same.

He was forced to revise this estimate when they reached the bar at the bottom floor of the skyscraper and Arthur ordered Eames a drink without even asking first, in the same manner that Eames himself had ordered many a drink for any pretty young thing he might be interested in bedding. He recognized the method, even though he was confused as to the motivation.

Eames had been testing out a new forge during this run, a buxom but delicate young blonde with his own full lips and fine cheekbones but with bright hazel eyes, an hourglass figure, and... well, a vagina. When the third member of their team had taken his tumble off the building Eames hadn't bothered changing back to his real body.

For one thing, he could use as much practice in this new forge as he could get. He'd been creating and using female bodies for years, of course, and having sex as a female for nearly as long, but a new forge always took a bit to settle into. And it was easier for some reason to practice when he wasn't alone. There were things a companion could do for him that a mirror and an empty room in his solitary dream could not.

Additionally, Eames just liked the idea of Arthur having to deal with him when he was a pretty young thing with tremendous tits. Call it his contrary nature or his innate curiosity, but Eames often liked to do things just to get a reaction and to see what that reaction might be. Even more so where Arthur was concerned, he could admit.

Arthur didn't seem overly bothered that Eames remained in his forge. But then, Eames already knew that it took a lot to rattle Arthur. When their architect had gone over the edge of the skyscraper roof, Arthur had merely blinked, snorted, and invited Eames to find a bar where they could get a drink.

And now here they were, perched on the high stools, and Eames was grateful for the heels he was wearing, or he was pretty sure he'd have been slipping off his seat, his silk skirt rucked up around his tiny waist. Honestly, most men who didn't cross-dress on a regular basis had no _idea_ what women had to put up with in terms of wardrobe. Eames knew this, not just because he'd spent so much time forging women in the dream-share, but also because he'd done his own share of cross-dressing, back when he'd still had the shoulders for it. Before he'd gotten just a bit too broad to be, well, a convincing broad. Before he'd been able to enter the dream-share and _become_ a beautiful young female to every sense that mattered.

From the way Arthur was eyeing Eames' perfectly-realized, long, lean legs, he mightn't have minded if Eames had suffered the skirt malfunction in question, and when he invited Eames to find a convenient bedroom with him, Eames was only surprised that it was happening at all, not startled by the proposition. He'd had an idea that this had been coming from the moment Arthur had handed him his drink, fingers lingering warm and intimate over Eames' more-delicate digits in an overlong, overly familiar caress.

So that was how they had ended up having sex the first time. Eames hadn't bothered to dream up sexy under-things, but he'd been rendered naked by Arthur's large, skillful hands so quickly that it hadn't mattered one whit in the end. And all that practice he'd been getting in having sex as a woman had proved to be invaluable. Certainly Arthur had never complained about the things Eames had done or allowed Arthur to do to his female body. To say that they enjoyed their time spent tangled together, during this first dream and other, subsequent dreams, would have been an understatement.

Once they'd begun this course of events Eames had become monogamous so subtly that he almost hadn't noticed it happening. Not until one night in New Orleans when a gorgeous, once-in-a-lifetime redheaded goddess had tried to crawl down the front of his trousers and he had ruefully but firmly put her off. Then it had come to him like a shock of lightning that he hadn't slept with anyone other than Arthur in months, in nearly a year, since almost directly after they had begun screwing in the dream-share.

And by that time it had been far too late for him. He'd been so gone that he hadn't even minded the realization. He only felt bad when he wondered whether _Arthur_ was still having sex with other people. Eames thought that he must be, yeah? Because there couldn't have been two complete idiots in their strange inside-out, ass-backwards relationship.

So things went on. And while Eames didn't ever feel that he was quite sure where they were or how they had gotten there, he knew that he didn't want to be the one to bone it up.

Arthur meant too much to him for that. And Eames would do whatever it took to keep things from changing.

***

Jack's job was based in London, which Eames hadn't visited in a good decade. He didn't feel it had changed much. Gotten a bit more crowded and polluted, perhaps. It had its good spots and its bad, but most of its charm, Eames thought, came from nostalgia. Or perhaps its surface flash where tourists were concerned, but Eames was not a tourist.

They were working out of an old warehouse again. Eames had twitted Arthur about that, but Arthur had very seriously let him know that it hadn't been his idea; not either time.

Arthur had gone on ahead, much to Eames' chagrin, and Eames was deeply disappointed that he hadn't been there for Arthur and Jack's first meeting. He could only imagine how it had gone, but that was no substitute for having witnessed it firsthand. He rather wished he could have bribed the chemist to video-record it, but he knew without asking that she would have declined.

And so Eames arrived at the warehouse last, once everyone else had already met and gotten ensconced. This didn't bother him horribly, but he did feel a bit as though he was the uncool kid arriving late to the party.

Tracking down the address was simple, and the key Arthur had sent him worked perfectly. Eames let himself in, dropping his bags and giving the wide room a quick once-over. Arthur was on the far side, talking to their chemist, and Jack was sitting at a desk far closer to the entrance. He jumped up as soon as he saw who had just entered.

"Eames!"

Swooping forward, Jack greeted Eames the way Jack greeted anybody he'd had more than passing acquaintance with in the past.

Eames was engulfed. Not just in Jack's arms, not just in the clean, masculine scent of the man, but in the sheer power of Jack's charisma and personality. It matched and maybe even rivaled his own, and it would have taken an act of will stronger than any Eames could be bothered with to resist. Hell, when Jack kissed this skillfully, who would _want_ to resist?

"Hallo, Jack," Eames said once he'd been released, smirking with lips that felt pressure-bruised. Not only was Jack a great kisser, but it had been a good three years or more since Eames had kissed anyone outside the dream-share. Well, a _proper_ kiss, that was. And Jack never gave anything but a proper kiss. "Still enjoying everyone and everything?" Eames inquired pleasantly.

"Hey now," Jack said in a warning tone, giving him a stern look for all of a moment before dissolving into a broad grin and punching him in the upper arm. "Always," he answered candidly. "I've told you before, you should try it."

Eames shook his head, still meeting and matching Jack's grin. It was infectious, but more than that, he was just happy to see the extractor again. Jack was a genuinely good man and a nice guy. "Been there, done that," he replied easily. "Quite finished with it, thanks."

"Oh ho?" Jack's dark brows rose and fell in a ridiculous waggle that on him looked more adorable than cartoonish. "Impossible! Have you actually settled down?"

Eames winced. He hadn't meant to give that away. Especially when it wasn't really true. Not in the sense that _normal_ people understood such things. But then, Jack was hardly normal.

"Not exactly," he said, and left it at that. Arthur wasn't near enough that he could hear this exchange, thank God, and Jack was the soul of discretion. He had to be, considering the sorts of situations he got himself into on a regular basis. "Less said about that the better," Eames added, though. Because he trusted Jack to hold his tongue, but Eames, Arthur, and Jack were all going to be working together for some time to come, and all it might take to completely ruin things for Eames might be one or two words spoken with complete innocence on Jack's part.

"Ah." Jack, of course, was a brilliant boy, which was part of what had always attracted Eames to him. He shot Arthur a quick glance, and then if anything his grin widened. He had dimples like Arthur, but they were not as deep nor as charming. "I do believe your Not-Exactly is headed this way. And looking ready to tear a strip off my hide. The jealous type, is he?"

"Shut it!" Eames hissed, but that was all he had time for, before Arthur was joining them.

"Glad that you could make it," Arthur said to Eames, his tone a bit cool, but still friendly enough to ears that didn't know better. "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow, to be honest."

Eames shrugged. "Managed to catch an earlier flight," he said, and when he smiled at Arthur it felt somehow _wrong_ , because he was smiling with lips that Jack had kissed. Because it had been Jack kissing him, not Arthur. Even though Arthur had never kissed Eames outside of the dream-share. Eames shook off this feeling, though, because there was no use in wishing it had been Arthur kissing him in greeting, and because Jack was just _like that_. "I haven't got a room yet, though."

"I've got us a room," Arthur replied diffidently, and Eames could feel his eyes going wide despite his instant attempt to rein in his shock and surprise. "Go ahead and leave your bags here, and we'll grab them on the way out. Right now we're going to have a quick briefing to talk about the job."

Eames nodded silently and very resolutely avoided Jack's knowing smirk as the two of them followed Arthur back over to where their chemist was sitting. This was the first time in... _ever_ that Arthur had offered to share a room with Eames _during_ a job. They'd had to room together a couple of times in the past, it was true, but only when necessity had driven them to it. And those times had been during jobs that had made certain that neither of them got very much sleep.

Well, whatever Arthur's reasons, Eames wasn't going to protest. If it had been something Arthur had already planned, or if it had been because of Jack's kiss, it didn't matter. The end result was the same, and Eames was both thrilled and terrified. He just needed to remind himself not to read too much into it.

Because knowing himself as he did, he thought that he probably would. And then he would wind up with a broken heart. And that was just no good at all.

Far better to concentrate on the job for now. That, at least, he knew he could get involved in without the potential for everything ending in disaster. Or at least so he devoutly hoped.

***

The job was as close to legal as any Eames was likely to get in the dream-share at this point in his career; a fact for which he was more than passing grateful.

"Our client is also our mark," Jack informed him, as though he hadn't already heard all this from Arthur. But Jack was the one who had set up the job, he was the one who knew the client personally, and he was enjoying the sound of his own voice telling the tale so much that Eames hadn't the heart to interrupt. He didn't mind getting it from the source, and neither Arthur nor Martha seeming inclined to speak up either, even though Eames was sure that they both knew all the details as well.

"She's asking us to perform an extraction on her," Jack continued, his hands clasped between his thighs, his expression unusually serious. He had a boyishly handsome face, with a wing of dark hair falling across his forehead, and he and Eames had definitely enjoyed one another's company back before Eames had started in on his _thing_ with Arthur, but Eames thought that Arthur, sitting there, put-together, proper, and all buttoned-up and pomaded, looked a hundred times more mouth-wateringly delicious.

"The catch is that she doesn't know what we're extracting," Martha spoke up, and it was all right that she was honing in on Jack's briefing, because she knew the client as well. Their chemist was pretty and intelligent and she might have tempted Eames in the past, but now he just found himself cataloging the way her white teeth contrasted with her dark skin to make her even more stunning. Perhaps he could use that in a forge someday, perhaps not.

"That's the challenge," Jack took up the thread again. Eames was pretty sure he and Martha weren't sleeping together, since it was highly unlikely Jack had been the one to put the shiny diamond on her left ring finger, but they were easy and comfortable with one another the way that Eames and Arthur were when they were at their best. "Rose knows that something's been taken from her mind. She's lost almost an entire year. And she needs to know what happened during that time."

Eames blinked. That part he hadn't known. "Is it something medical?" he asked, already surmising the answer before he received it.

Jack shook his head. "Nope. Someone got in there and stole the memories. We're assuming it was done in the dream-share, though I hadn't been able to go in deeply enough to find out for sure; not when I was alone. That's why I need a team of at least four. A team with some of the best in the business."

Eames nodded, accepting the compliment as the truth. This was nothing to joke about. If someone had taken time and life experience away from their client then he would do what he could to help her get it back. He just hoped that she wouldn't come to regret it. But that wasn't on him. He was here to do a job, and he was going to do his best.

Besides, if it had been him he would have wanted to know, even if they were bad memories. He figured that it was the same for this Rose.

"Let's hope that the memories are still there and can be triggered," Arthur spoke up. "That they haven't been removed entirely."

"I don't think that's possible without actual physical surgery," Jack said, and he sat up straight, looking sure and strong and capable. He always expected that he'd be able to do anything, no matter how impossible, and so far Eames had never seen him fail. He was a lot like Arthur that way. Eames did so love to work with such brilliant villains, he thought fondly. Especially Arthur, for obvious reasons. "The memories _have_ to still be in there, and we're _going_ to find them for her."

They were all going to have to do their best, because the client already knew the ins and outs of the dream-share. She wasn't going to be fighting them, but her subconscious was going to be more aware and more alert than they were generally used to. Their plan was going to have to be airtight, they were going to need at least one good backup plan, and Eames was of the opinion that they would need about as much luck as they would skill and preparedness.

Once the briefing was over Jack dispersed them, setting an early meeting for the next morning, and Eames didn't mind. They'd have enough work to do on the morrow, and besides, he wanted to find out whether or not Arthur had meant what he had said earlier.

True to his word, Arthur took Eames back to his own hotel room, and that was evidently where he expected Eames to stay. Eames certainly had no quarrel with that. Over the course of the next several days they spent as much time sitting around in their pyjamas, talking about the job instead of sleeping, as they did using the PASIV device and screwing their brains out in the dream-share. Eames was still trying not to read too much into it, but if this was the result of making Arthur jealous, perhaps he should try doing so more often.

Only... that way lay potential disaster. Eames was still fearful of making a proper muck of things, after thinking for weeks that he had lost Arthur to Ariadne's undeniable charms. He was going to enjoy what he had while he had it. And that included the job as much as it did the sex with Arthur.

Well. Maybe _nearly_ as much. Or not nearly as much. Because as exciting as the job was, the sex was frankly fabulous.

Still, working with such a crackerjack team was a sheer pleasure, Eames had to admit. Not that he hadn't been in equally talented groups before. During the Fischer job everyone had been uniformly amazing, but Cobb had been so intense and so uptight, and then things had gone so pear shaped so quickly that it had been impossible to enjoy the experience. Now, even though the goal was important and the work delicate, Eames was able to truly revel in the experience.

As well, it was deeply amusing to spend time with Jack, to watch the man interacting with... well, with everyone involved. Jack was a born flirt who had honed this talent to a nearly irresistible skill. And the fact that Martha was spoken for and Eames considered himself to be the same did absolutely nothing to deter Jack. Not that Eames had expected it to do so. And, of course, Arthur was subjected to just as much flirtatious behaviour as the other two. Just like Eames and Martha, Arthur took it in stride. In fact he was virtually unflappable. Eames didn't know whether he was more amused or disappointed by this fact, but mainly he was fighting his own feelings of jealousy whenever it happened, even though he _knew_ that it was just the way that Jack was.

There were other moments of entertainment. Specifically when they went under into Jack's dream, Jack got shot in the chest by a projection, and Arthur got to see Jack's personal, particular dream talent for the first time.

In retrospect, Eames figured that he _could_ have warned Arthur ahead of time. But, honestly, it hadn't occurred to him. And then once it happened, it was too funny to do anything other than to simply stand back and watch.

It was Jack's dream and Arthur was the subject. So Eames kind of had to wonder why it was _him_ that the projection aimed her gun at. He hoped that it was just chance and nothing _meant_ by Arthur subconscious. But either way, as the bullet was fired Jack moved, nearly preternaturally quickly, taking the hit for Eames.

"Shit!" Martha said eloquently as Jack struck the ground at nearly the same time as the projection, which Arthur had instinctively dispatched just a split second too late.

"Why the hell did he bother doing something so pointless?" Arthur asked, his gun still at the ready, even though the projection seemed to have been acting alone.

"So glad to hear that you consider saving my life to be pointless," Eames snapped, giving a mock pout even though he had truly meant the words more than a bit, and his feelings were actually a little hurt.

Arthur sighed, an exasperated sound. "I just meant," he said, scowling at Eames, "That it was pointless when this is Jack's dream, and it's going to be disintegrating now that he's dead."

"Is he?" Eames asked, at the same time Martha loosed a throaty chuckle and queried, "Will it?"

Arthur's gaze flickering sharply between the two of them, then his frown deepened further as he realized that he was still waiting for the dream to collapse, well past the time that it should have done.

Eames grinned at Arthur widely. He couldn't help himself. He supposed Martha was doing the same, and it had to be mildly obnoxious, but he really couldn't wipe the expression away. Even less so when Jack drew in a deep, quavering breath and jumped to his feet before anyone could offer him a hand up.

"Did I miss anything?" he asked brightly, tipping Eames a quick wink.

"You-- He-- How--?!" Arthur sputtered, his face turning a little red. He did so hate being taken by surprise. Eames felt a twinge of guilt, he had to admit, but it was always nice seeing Arthur act like a normal human being. It happened so rarely.

"Oh, sorry," Jack said, in a repentant tone that somehow didn't sound at all sorry. "Didn't you know? That's something special that I can do in the dream-share. Like our Eames' forgery."

"Forging," Eames corrected.

Jack waved a dismissive hand in his direction and smiled more gently at Arthur. "I can continue to dream once I've been killed. That's why we're going into my dream while we're pulling the actual job. And that's what's going to make it possible to get deep enough to find Rose's hidden memories."

Arthur looked both impressed and annoyed in equal parts. "And no one saw fit to tell me about this ability, so that I could factor it into our plans?"

"Sorry," all three of them chorused, and one and a half of them actually looked it.

"It's still early yet," Martha offered, giving Arthur a sheepish smile. "We're got plenty of time to fine-tune the plans."

Arthur scowled a moment longer, then he nodded grimly. "All right then."

Eames didn't figure that they were forgiven, but he hoped that he would at least be allowed to enjoy his punishment later. He'd much rather his blonde forge be turned over Arthur's knee and given a sound spanking than the alternate of receiving the silent treatment and being cut off from sex. Not that Arthur had ever done the latter... but then, they had never shared a hotel room and had so much dream-share sex during a job before.

Eames was learning to expect the unexpected from Arthur on a regular basis while they were working this job. And he thought that he liked it.

He would like it even more if he got his bottom smacked rosy, though. He had to admit.

***

In the end the job proved to be both difficult and painful for everyone involved, but they were successful, and that was what really mattered. Rose now knew what she had been forced to forget and she knew why. Or, rather, she knew _who_ , and she was off to find the man in question. Whether it was for vengeance, for answers, or simply in pursuit of a love she couldn't let go, Eames didn't know, but that wasn't his business. It had been... complicated. To put it mildly. He was glad that he wasn't involved, but he was also happy to have had a hand in helping the young woman.

They'd had to go under again, into a second level, and Martha had died a particularly gruesome death there. Eames still felt bad about that, but the torture he'd undergone at the hands of some particularly aggressive projections shortly after that had taken his mind off it some. Arthur had blazed to his rescue within less than a quarter hour of dream time, but the memory of the pain lingered. Eames didn't think he had ever been so happy when the time had run out on the PASIV device and he'd awakened in the real world, whole and unbloodied.

Still, a success was a success, and they all felt it was worth celebrating. Well, Jack thought so. Eames was pretty sure that the rest of them went along to the bar mainly because they felt a strong need for some bracing alcohol and some friendly company. Which was equally valid, and they were certainly able and willing to celebrate at the same time.

Rose was already gone, on her way to the airport. Martha vanished early; Eames was dead certain she was headed for the comforting arms of her fiancee, and he didn't blame her one bit. So it was just himself, Arthur, and Jack.

Eames half expected that Jack was going to suggest a threesome, especially when his hand came to rest, heavy and very deliberately on Eames' ass for several long moments, but it never happened. Jack might be completely shameless and insatiable, but he was also canny and brilliant, and he had to have known better. Hell, he might even suspect the true nature of Arthur and Eames' arrangement, even though the thought of this caused Eames to squirm with internal horror.

"Well, I guess I'm off," Jack finally said, downing his last shot and giving them both a wide, lopsided grin. Eames was convinced that this had more than a little to do with the lovely young thing who had been giving Jack doe-eyes from across the bar, but he forebode to say anything. Jack would only see it as an opportunity to say something crude and provocative in return, Eames was already well aware from past experience. "I would say don't do anything I wouldn't do, but...."

"But what is there you wouldn't do?" Eames finished for him, before fielding a deep, wet, sloppy kiss that seemed to go on forever. He was pretty sure that he caught the sound of Arthur making some sort of strangled protest, but then he was released to reel a little, and it was Arthur's turn to find Jack's mouth plastered against his own.

Eames wasn't grinning, really he wasn't. And he wasn't seething with completely unwarranted jealousy. He wasn't.

Well, okay, maybe a little. The mixture of humour and envy -- Jack was kissing Arthur while waking, something Eames had never gotten a chance to do -- kept him off balance long enough that when he regained his scattered senses, Jack was nothing more than a broad back in a long, dark bridge coat, vanishing into the crowd.

"He always did know how to make an exit," Eames muttered, shaking his head in exasperation and more than a little fondness. Jack was something like a typhoon, blowing in and out of people's lives with very little by the way of ceremony, or common manners.

"I can't believe you let him kiss you," Arthur said, so low that Eames almost didn't hear him. But he did. He did, and he couldn't believe he had heard what he had just heard.

"What was that?" he gaped, staring at Arthur, who was meeting his gaze stonily. "He kissed you too, you know!"

"He kissed you first," Arthur hissed, still speaking quietly but with deep intensity. Perhaps the middle of a crowded bar wasn't the best place for this conversation, but it was evidently going to happen. And so far no one was really paying them much attention. Or so Eames sincerely hoped. "And _twice_ ," Arthur added vehemently.

"To say hello and goodbye," Eames defended. Because it had never been his idea. That was just the way Jack was, and Arthur damned well ought to realize that by now. "Why are you kicking up a fuss?" he asked, because that was what truly confounded him.

"I don't like you kissing other people!" Arthur snapped abruptly, high spots of colour in his cheeks, his dark brown eyes flashing.

"Well, I didn't think you would _care_ if I didn't have _tits and a pussy_!" Eames came back with before he thought, speaking the dead truth, and speaking it far too loudly if the startled glances he received from a few people around him was any indication. But he was too busy being overwhelmed by what Arthur had just said, what he had just implied, and what it might mean to himself to take care in how he spoke.

Arthur winced, and Eames wondered vaguely if it was in response to his crudeness or if it was the idea that he might be jealous. Although, he'd almost certainly said as much, hadn't he? Or maybe Eames had misunderstood him.

"That doesn't matter," Arthur said, his tone quiet and intent again. He made an abortive move, as though he was about to reach for Eames but then thought better of it. He shook his head, his gaze steady and clear on Eames' eyes. "That's _never_ mattered."

"Since when?!" Eames challenged, because he hadn't ever known when to leave well enough alone. He did, however, modify his voice to match Arthur's, so that everyone around them wouldn't be able to listen in. "You only wanted me when I was a woman!" It felt good to say it, but also painful; like lancing an infected wound.

Arthur's eyes narrowed as he stared even more piercingly at Eames. "I thought that was what you wanted," he replied slowly, speaking carefully.

Eames stared back, knowing his own eyes were wide and startled and hating that he was showing so much weakness. "I thought... I thought it was what _you_ wanted," he said breathlessly.

They looked at one another in thick silence for a long moment, the crowded bar around them forgotten. Eames licked his lips and spoke, trying to keep the tone flippant, but knowing that he was failing miserably.

"Well. Now I feel like a right wanker."

"I.... Me too," Arthur said quietly, and there was something strangely soft in the curve of his perfect lips even though he was not smiling.

They stood there, staring at one another, neither seeming willing to make the first move. Eames tried to calm his pounding heart, and he could see that Arthur was fighting to get his breathing under control. It was strangely comforting to know that he wasn't the only one being physically affected by this fight. Or, was it even a fight? What was this, anyway?

"So... what do we do now?" Eames eventually gave in and asked, knowing that he sounded as lost as he felt.

"I think we need to go somewhere we can talk in private," Arthur said evenly, and his face had firmed, his expression now impossible to read.

Eames couldn't disagree, wasn't inclined to disagree, and so they went on their way. Headed back to their hotel room. Eames' stomach was sinking, but his heart was rising, and he was so tense he felt with each passing moment that he was going to be sick.

Whatever this coming conversation was going to bring, it was going to change _everything_ between them. Eames was terrified by the reality of this, but he couldn't turn back.

Make or break him, he was going to follow Arthur wherever the other man led, because he couldn't do anything else.

Honestly, though? He didn't _want_ to do anything else.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time they reached their hotel room Eames had convinced himself that one of two things was going to happen. Either he and Arthur had both been behaving like complete boneheads and had wasted three years they could have spent having _real_ sex, or else he was in for the most painful dumping he'd ever endured in his life.

Not that he'd been dumped often, granted. But when it had happened, it had been spectacular. And he'd never been dumped by anyone he'd been so deeply in love with as he was with Arthur.

He wanted to believe it was going to be the former, everything in their strange abortive conversation in the bar had seemed to indicate this, and yet there was the cynical part of him -- the _voice of reason_ he reminded himself -- that wouldn't let him to get his hopes up too high, that wanted to protect him from his heart being forever shattered. Because of all the people in the world, Arthur was the one who had that much power over him.

Eames had known this for quite a while now, of course, no matter how he had tried to ignore it. But this long, breathless walk to their hotel room very decidedly underlined this fact for him. And now he was more than half fearful that Arthur knew it as well, or at least suspected. Arthur was sharp that way. Normally this was something that Eames enjoyed about him, but in this particular situation the possibility had him terrified.

Arthur's steps never faltered, and he opened the door for Eames, ushering him inside.

Eames' stomach was in knots, and he felt all kinds of stupid, like a teenage kid with a crush, but this was so much more important than that. This was about the rest of his life, and whether he was going to live it happily or in misery.

Once inside, Arthur paced several steps into the room while Eames pressed back against the door. It was solid and supportive at his back, and he felt safer knowing that he had an escape route so handy. He didn't _want_ to run away from Arthur, but if this went badly, he would do whatever it took to keep his sense of self intact.

If that was even possible at this point.

"How long?" Arthur asked, glancing over his shoulder at Eames as he removed his cufflinks with nimble fingers. He didn't look unapproachable... but there was a barrier between them that Eames felt almost as physical presence. An invisible wall of words left unspoken, of things left unsaid for far too much time.

"How long what?" Eames asked. He wasn't being deliberately obtuse. He really had no idea what Arthur was asking of him right now.

It didn't help his concentration that the sight of Arthur taking off his cufflinks and dropping them in the empty ashtray on the bedside table reminded Eames explicitly of sex. Now was not the time to be getting hard in his trousers, and yet he couldn't exactly help himself, now could he? This response had been trained into him by three years of watching Arthur roll up his sleeves in order to use the PASIV device, to go under and fuck.

Arthur didn't roll up his sleeves now, though he did remove his tie. Eames had thought it a little pretentious of Arthur to wear a tie while performing this job, considering that Rose couldn't possibly have cared how professional any of them looked, but he did enjoy watching Arthur strip it out from under his collar and cast it aside.

Or, well, he would have done if he hadn't been all tied up in knots, waiting for Arthur to clarify.

Instead of replying to Eames' demand for clarification, however, Arthur stepped back across the room until he was right in front of him, invading his personal bubble. And the door no longer felt like support behind Eames, instead holding him still, keeping him right here, where he wasn't sure he wanted to be.

"How long what?" Eames repeated, and he hadn't meant to whisper the words, but Arthur was _right there_. And then one of Arthur's hands was on Eames' shoulder and the other cupped the side of his face, their chest were pressed together, and that was Arthur's mouth closing over his, hard and demanding, in something that couldn't possibly be mistaken for anything other than a kiss, a _real_ kiss.

Eames had kissed Arthur plenty of times in the dream-share, to be sure. It shouldn't have been much different for him, kissing while awake, aside from the shift in height. And yet it _was_ , it was nothing at all like snogging in the dream.

It had to be completely different for Arthur, Eames thought vaguely, insofar as his brain was able to function at all. Stubble, and strength and the flavour of man rather than woman. His lips were actually a bit fuller in his real body than his blonde forge, but not as soft or as sweet. And he smelt of masculine sweat and faded cologne after a hard day of dreaming and the stress of their confrontation in the bar, not of lemongrass, clean female flesh, and a delicate hint of fruity perfume like his forge always did.

Arthur didn't seem to mind any of that. He crowded closer, sealing his lips more tightly against Eames', and then stuck his tongue deeply enough into Eames' mouth that he could have felt out all of Eames' fillings if he'd so desired. In fact, that almost seemed what he was determined to do, if the lithe twisting of his tongue into every corner and crevasse of Eames' mouth was any indication.

Arthur hadn't bothered to answer Eames' question... but somehow in this moment Eames couldn't bring himself to care. Because Arthur _was kissing him_. While awake, no less.

It was a little embarrassing but in all honesty Eames wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands. If he'd been in his female form he'd have felt no shame in clinging to Arthur's shoulders, but as a man, that might have seemed more than a bit pathetic. And yet he didn't feel that he could be so bold as to go grabbing at Arthur's arse or even his hips, as badly as he wanted to. Not yet. Not until he had some bloody idea of _what they were doing_. That wasn't too much to ask, was it?

Bit difficult to pursue the subject, however, when Arthur seemed to have no inclination of letting Eames loose any time soon. His tongue undulated against Eames' and what was Eames to do but return this intimate caress? It would have taken a man made of stone to resist this silent appeal, and Eames was no statue. Even considering that he may momentarily be frozen where he was standing with his back to the hotel room door.

Eventually, though, they both had to breathe. Eames' head was back against the door, but Arthur did him the courtesy of pulling back at least far enough that their eyes were able to focus on one another's face. Eames licked lips that were tingling and tasted far better than they had after being kissed by Jack. Which had nothing whatsoever to do with what each respective man had been drinking in the bar and everything to do with the fact that he was _kissing Arthur_.

"Seriously, though, Arthur," he husked, and why couldn't he seem to raise his voice above a whisper? "I thought we were going to talk about this."

"You also thought that I only wanted your blonde forge in the dreamshare," Arthur murmured back, the pad of his thumb sweeping over the pressure-bruised swells of Eames' lips. Not that Eames minded, but they really needed to discuss a few things. Some _very important_ things.

"Well, and isn't that why we should talk?" he asked desperately, and he didn't have it in him to push Arthur away, but neither could he move back. Not with the door behind him. Not with Arthur's hands on him.

He wanted Arthur's hands on his arse, the same way Jack's overly familiar palm had been, but so far those gorgeous, graceful fingers had yet to venture below his waist, or even his shoulders.

"Come on." In slight contradiction to Eames' latest thought, Arthur's hand slid smoothly down his arm, his fingers curling around Eames' hand, and then he was guiding him across the room to the bed. Eames frowned a little, but Arthur just sat him down on the mattress and sank down beside him.

"Arthur," Eames began, not sure where he was going from there, but the momentary silence suddenly weighing on him so heavily that he couldn't let it stand.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked instead, and he was still holding onto Eames' hand, but Eames didn't have the heart to pull away. Arthur's thigh was warm and solid alongside his own, a pressure and presence that was comforting rather than intimidating.

"Well, I might be if you would just tell me what's going on," Eames couldn't help saying in more than moderate exasperation.

Arthur wasn't amused, nor was he annoyed. He shook his head, his expression still serious, his dark brown eyes fixed on Eames. "No, I meant because of what happened to you in the dream. I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner."

"Oh. That," Eames realized, blinking a bit quickly. The job they had just pulled had been so far behind him, the things that had happened since he'd awakened overwriting the torture he had undergone so thoroughly, that he'd had no clue what Arthur had been on about. "I'm fine. It happened in the dream, Arthur. You know that the things that happen there hardly matter once you're awake, yeah?"

Arthur's brow was furrowed in a frown before Eames had finished speaking. "Well. Not everything," he said, and Eames bit his lip after the fact, realizing too late how his words might have sounded.

"No, I didn't mean--"

"It's all right," Arthur interrupted, and now he was smiling, but it was a soft, gentle smile. And it made Eames feel... God, both terrified and ecstatic at once, that Arthur was directing that expression at _him_. "I know what you mean. But I also know that it was awful, coming in and seeing you all covered with your own blood, strung up and in agony like that. Just because the pain is only in the dream...."

Eames shrugged, tightening his fingers around Arthur's. "You know as well as I do that it's easy enough to let go," he said, wanting to erase that earnest, pained expression from Arthur's face. "Once you're awake. And I finished the job. I will admit that Rose's subconscious is a fearsome place, but we're done and it certainly wasn't anything that is going to emotionally cripple me."

Arthur chuckled a little. Eames sort of wanted to lick his dimples, but he held off on that ridiculous urge because they were in no way finished with this conversation.

"Arthur," Eames said, biting his lower lip, but unable to just let it alone. "Arthur, come on. Just tell me.... Tell me what you want from me, please."

Arthur stared at him a long moment and Eames couldn't tell what was going on behind his warm eyes, behind his shuttered expression. "Whatever you're willing to give me," he finally came out with.

Eames knew that his own eyes had widened, but he hadn't been expecting that answer. At all. In fact, that answer terrified him. Because he was afraid that Arthur actually _meant_ it.

"What if..." he paused and cleared his throat, his voice coming in a tense rumble, because he was essentially laying himself wide open for potentially complete destruction here, "What if that's... everything?"

Arthur blinked rapidly, and there was some powerful emotion on his face now, but even though it was right there in the open, Eames was still having trouble reading it.

"Don't be joking, Eames," Arthur entreated, his own eyes round, his fingers closing painfully around Eames' hand. "Please don't be joking."

"I wouldn't joke about this," Eames whispered, and he couldn't seem to speak aloud. His chest was tight, and they were talking their way around the emotions that they felt for each other, potentially making a connection that would last them the rest of their lives, but the hardest part had already been put out there. And by both of them, somehow; neither one had been the one who'd had to set it all on the line, and yet they both had done.

Now Eames was left in the difficult position of allowing himself to believe that they could _have_ what they both wanted, at the same time he needed to convince Arthur of the same.

Or maybe they were already there. Because suddenly Eames was on his back on the mattress, with Arthur straddling his hips, and he could feel Arthur's fingers buried in his hair, holding his head still, but most of his attention was fixed on the masterful way that Arthur was laying claim to his mouth and laying waste to his senses all at once.

If Eames had thought that Arthur was kissing him fit to scatter his wits before, he hadn't been close to right. Now.... Now Arthur seemed determined that Eames should not have any higher brain functions left whatsoever.

Eames had a vague awareness that he should have felt a little silly with his legs below the knees hanging over the edge of the bed, but he had Arthur on top of him, here in the waking world, and he was fairly certain that Arthur felt about him the same way Eames felt about Arthur, and so there could hardly have been anywhere else he could have wanted to be.

Except maybe _naked_ underneath Arthur....

No longer uncertain as to where he should put his hands, Eames ran his palms smoothly down the wings of Arthur's shoulderblades, then sank his fingers into the firm muscles of his ass. They were both wearing far too much by way of clothing, but that could be easily enough fixed. Once they summoned up the willpower necessary to separate for as long as that would take them.

Arthur didn't seem to be in any great hurry to move away from Eames. He ground down against the other man's burgeoning erection, his hands moving restlessly from Eames' hair to his shoulders, back up his neck, then cupping his scalp again as he continued to lick his way deeply into Eames' mouth. It was everything Eames could have hoped and more. More, because this was actually happening, now, and in reality.

Eames tightened his grip on Arthur's arse, partially because it was so delightfully pert, just as glorious as it had promised to be all along, and partially just because he _could_. He'd grabbed it many times in the dream-share, of course, but little female hands weren't really built to properly _man_ handle the fine rear end that Arthur possessed. Not the way that Eames wanted. Not the way that Arthur deserved.

Arthur said something muffled against the swells of Eames' lips, inarticulate words that made the skin tingle even more than the pressure and friction had already done.

"What was that?" Eames queried breathlessly as Arthur finally raised his head enough so that they could suck in a few quick gasps of desperately needed air. "We should take our clothes off?"

Arthur chuckled, his eyes crinkling and those wonderful dimples twinkling. "That wasn't what I said," he murmured, almost as breathlessly as Eames, "But I heartily approve of that idea."

Eames gritted out a low noise of protest as Arthur levered himself up off of his prone body and stood beside the bed. He'd lost his grip on Arthur's arse, missed his body heat, and even the fact that they were both shortly going to be naked did nothing to placate him for this double loss.

"Come on," Arthur grinned, reaching down and smacking Eames' thigh lightly. Then his hands went to his own collar, working the buttons open all down his shirt front, and Eames forgot to be disappointed as he avidly watched. It was more enticing than any strip tease he had ever seen -- or performed -- he was certain, and that was because it was _Arthur_

"Eames, seriously," Arthur growled, his gaze dark above flushed cheeks as he shrugged out of his crisp striped shirt and dropped it carelessly on the floor next to him. "Get undressed, now." He kicked at Eames' foot before moving to take his shoes off.

Far be it from Eames to disobey Arthur when he spoke in that tone. Eames struggled to keep his eyes on Arthur as he wriggled his way out of his own shirt and trousers, but he must have lost track somewhere between his undershirt and his socks, because the next thing he knew Arthur was as bare as the day he'd been born, and he had something very like lube and condoms in his hand, placing these on the bedside table.

Eames flushed, trying to convince himself it was nothing more than arousal, but the sad fact of the matter was that it had been years since he'd needed either of those. Well, he'd utilized various sorts of slick while "taking care of himself", of course, because monogamy had never meant that he couldn't masturbate between the times he and Arthur came together. But he'd been having sex as a woman in the dream-share, and that had meant that there hadn't been any reason for either extra lubrication or prophylactics.

He honestly didn't know whether they needed that latter now.... His last several tests had been clean, and he hadn't been with anyone in the past three years. On the other hand, he had no idea how circumspect Arthur had been. He'd have ventured the guess of "very", but all it might take would be one night of passion, one mistake, one moment of carelessness, and.... Well.

"You've seen me naked before," Arthur said, sounding amused, and Eames became aware that he'd been caught staring, but he was completely unashamed of this fact.

"Not like this," Eames husked, giving Arthur a lopsided grin as he peeled back the bedcovers and climbed up onto the mattress in front of the pillows. Before, the two of them had stretched out side by side on this bed, fully clothed or in pyjamas, going under to screw, hooked up to the PASIV device. Now.... Now they were both nude, and both gloriously male, and the only sleeping that would happen would be after they had fucked each other senseless. "Not in the waking world."

"I should be the one saying that," Arthur replied, joining Eames on the mattress. It dipped, spilling Eames toward him, and neither of them seemed to mind. Arthur ran his large, graceful hands reverently over Eames' chest, fingers carding through the sprinkling of curly hairs, tracing over his tattoos, tweaking at his nipples. "All of this... it's all completely different. You already know me, inside and out, Eames. But I have to completely relearn your body."

Eames felt a hot, heady rush of arousal burst through him like a physical assault at the enthralled, proprietary tone of Arthur's voice, as well as the sensual pleasure of Arthur's sure hands on his bare skin. Not that he hadn't already been turned on. But this was more. This was something going beyond the flesh and into emotion, something that magnified every touch and caused it to mean _so much more_.

"Don't tease," he said unsteadily. He knew that it was cowardly of him, but he needed a moment to regain his sense of self, to process the fact that Arthur _wanted_ him while waking, in his true body and face, so he didn't reach for Arthur in turn, even though he really did want to.

"I'm not," Arthur replied firmly, giving one of Eames' nipples an almost vicious twist, then shooting him a mischievous grin before bending to lave it with his tongue as though in apology.

He didn't stay there for long, doubtless recalling Eames' preferences from their trysts in the dream-share -- because Arthur had a mind like a steel trap and never let anything completely distract him, even during sex -- but he did begin tracing Eames' tattoos with inquisitive fingertips and the occasional slick, hot tip of his tongue, tasting the salt of Eames' skin.

To his eternal shame, Eames spent several long moments doing nothing at all, melting back against the pillows and allowing Arthur to play his body like a new and yet at the same time beloved instrument. He could have tried to fool himself and say that he was letting Arthur get to know him all over again now that he was not in the form of busty blonde, but the fact of the matter was that he was feeling more than a little overwhelmed, and he needed this time to try to order his scattered wits. As much as he was very much enjoying the feeling of Arthur touching his torso and upper arms with such reverent fingers, mostly he was trying to recover his broken brain.

That Arthur had evidently felt the same way that Eames did all along was almost too good to be believed. That they'd been having sex exclusively in the dream-share when they could have been doing it topside as well... well, that was more annoying and exasperating, but now they could begin to make up for the lost time.

With this stunning notion foremost in his mind, Eames finally got it in gear and reached for Arthur, who had gotten as far as the faded tattoo that twined around one of Eames' hipbones. Arthur let out a quiet sound of protest, but shifted willingly enough when Eames did his best to drag him up into another kiss.

Even though he very much liked having Arthur's lips and tongue, and occasionally his teeth, on his body, Eames liked even more kissing that lush, lovely mouth. Arthur had lips that must have been created solely for kissing and fellatio, Eames had often thought in his more romantic moments. He'd never voiced this opinion before, well aware that even though he'd been in the form of a beautiful young woman while they'd been fucking, he hadn't actually _been_ a beautiful young woman, and so there were things that Arthur had been unlikely to let him get away with saying.

Now, however.... Now Eames thought that it might just be okay.

"I'd love to see my come all over your lips," was maybe not the best way to articulate his emotions on the matter, however.

Fortunately for Eames, who may or may not have gone brick red after uttering this horrifying sentence, Arthur took it with good grace, even chuckled a little.

"Well," he said, and there were those dimples, taunting Eames, and he really wanted to come all over the dimples as well, "That's something we haven't done before. I'll have to see what I can do about that."

And while Eames might have expected to be thoroughly chewed out for having said something so incredibly crude and selfish, instead he watched with round eyes as Arthur scooted back, pausing a moment to nuzzle at the tight curls around the base of his erection, then took his cock deeply into his mouth and throat, fingers wrapping around the rest of the shaft, below those gorgeous lips.

"No, wait--" Eames managed to choke out before an uncontrolled groan forced its way out of his chest and through parted lips. Because he hadn't even begun to take his turn touching Arthur in all the ways he wanted, because he hadn't actually expected Arthur to _do it_ , and because he didn't want Arthur to think that he was such a self centered, greedy, boorish lover.

Not that he hadn't gotten to touch and taste and appreciate Arthur in the dream-share often enough in the past three years. Not that the tight, hot suction Arthur was exerting on his cock didn't feel _amazing_. But, really, this was rushing things, and Eames didn't have any desire to rush his way through this experience. Their first time fucking while not in the dream-share.

Arthur didn't seem at all inclined to listen to him, and once he really got going, there was no way Eames was going to try and stop him. No man alive had the strength of will to call a halt to a truly skilled blowjob. Or, at least, certainly not Eames, when it was Arthur giving the said blowjob.

All the _more_ so, in fact, because it was Arthur. It was true that Arthur had gone down on Eames in the dream-share, but that was different. Eames had been in the shape of a woman, and it had been in the dream-share. This was real and now and _Arthur had Eames' cock in his mouth_! In fact, he seemed determined to hoover Eames' orgasm right out of him, and seeing as Eames was already so turned on simply from the fact of Arthur touching him, from the fact that Arthur _wanted_ to touch him in the waking world... well, a man could be excused for having a bit of a hair trigger in this extreme situation.

"Arthur," he managed to grit out in warning, his fingers clenching in Arthur's hair, the strands thick with product, and then Arthur was pulling back enough so that only the tip of Eames' cock was in his mouth, between those pink lips, when Eames shot off. Arthur swallowed, which was probably fair enough because so did Eames in the dream-share, and then he pulled back so that the last spurt hit his mouth, just as Eames had specified, the semen glistening with pointed, silently significant pearlescence on the bruised pink curves of his lips.

Eames bit at his own lower lip, trying desperately to catch his breath, and trying at the same time to keep his eyes on Arthur as he sat back on his heels, hard cock jutting between his thighs, licking his lips and then using the back of his hand to wipe his chin clean. Eames may have whined a little, involuntarily, but Arthur didn't seem to mind, and he also didn't seem to mind that Eames had just blown off in his mouth like a teenage twat getting his first suck job.

Of course, the sad fact was that this was the first action Eames' cock had seen outside his own palm and fingers in the last three years.... But, still. It was a little humiliating to have shot off so quickly.

"That was sexy," Arthur purred, in complete contradiction to what Eames had just been thinking, and he crawled back up to lean over Eames, the wet tip of his cock brushing against Eames' hip as he held himself up with locked elbows, bowing his head just enough to claim Eames' mouth in a slow, sensual kiss. Eames could taste himself on Arthur's lips and it made his spent cock twitch, as though there was a chance in hell he'd be getting it back up immediately.

But, while he may have had the stamina of a teenage boy -- which was to say none at all -- Eames wasn't blessed with the reduced refractory period. As long as it had been since he'd last gotten off outside the dream-share, as horny as Arthur was making him, it was just physically impossible.

Which meant, he thought hazily, still recovering from the climax that Arthur had sucked out of him, that it was _his turn_. He was going to make Arthur feel _amazing_.

Just as soon as he could get his loose, noodly limbs to move, that was....

Arthur smirked down at him, looking a bit too amused and far too boyish for Eames' peace of mind. His eyes were bright, his cheeks pink, and his hair was falling around his temples, knocked free of the pomade by Eames' clutching fingers. He always looked gorgeous, but Eames thought that this was the best he had ever seen Arthur look in all the time he had known him.

"You were incredible," Eames rasped, managing to reach up and hook one hand around the nape of Arthur's neck. He wanted to make sure that Arthur understood that. And he had to admit that; "I went off like a shaken soda without a cap."

Arthur actually laughed at this bit of inspired eloquence, and kissed Eames again before he could take offense. Not that he would have done, because he'd only stated the truth and Arthur'd had every right to laugh at him.

"I still think it was sexy," Arthur murmured against Eames' lips, and then he sat back, running a hand slowly down the sweat-dewed planes of Eames' chest and stomach. "And I'm more flattered than anything else."

"I'm relieved to hear that," Eames said, struggling up onto his elbows as his strength slowly returned to him. "Because it's only the truth."

Arthur met him halfway as he sat up, and they traded languid kisses, tongue tangling slow and easy for long moments. Arthur's hands were restless on Eames' shoulders and upper chest, while Eames did what he could to completely destroy Arthur's shellacked hairstyle.

"You're beautiful like this," Arthur growled, pulling back slightly and pinching at Eames' nipples again. His lips were ruddy and his face was flushed and Eames wanted more than anything to make Arthur feel as good as Arthur had made him feel.

"Funny," Eames rumbled in return, knowing that the extra rasp in his normally throaty voice sounded like sex, "I was just thinking the same thing about you."

One dark eyebrow arched, but Arthur didn't argue with him. Instead, he moved smoothly into Eames, so that they ended up lying on their sides on the bed, arms around one another, and their lips locked together once again.

They kissed for long, breath-stealing minutes, even though Eames could feel Arthur's hard-on pressed against his belly, hot and throbbing and demanding. Arthur ignored it, however, in favour of claiming more kisses from Eames. They kissed until Eames began to think that he might be able to get hard again in the foreseeable future, and maybe he hadn't let Arthur down entirely. They kissed until Eames' lips were numb, and then Arthur pulled back again, and whispered. "I want to fuck you," against those numb lips.

"Yes, please, absolutely," Eames babbled in a barely articulate jumble. Arthur's cock was thick and damp against his stomach and he didn't think that Arthur was even aware of the way his hips were rocking slightly to press it against Eames' body. As much as Eames would have liked to return the favour and blow Arthur, he had done that before as a woman in the dream-share; many times in fact. He wanted something new, something they had never done, something that he could give to Arthur.

He also entertained carnal fantasies about Arthur's fine, tight little arse, and how he could devastate the gorgeous point man with his own hard cock. And that would be giving to Arthur as much as taking from him, wouldn't it? Giving him his cock.... But the fact was that Eames had already shot off in Arthur's mouth, on his beautiful cupid bow lips and so it was definitely Arthur's turn to have his way with Eames. The fact that Eames was not only okay with this, but increasingly eager... well, that just made it so much the better, now didn't it.

"Roll," Arthur instructed, tugging at Eames' shoulder, and then kneeling over top of his arse as he moved to obey, turning onto his stomach. Eames was aware that Arthur was reaching for the lube he had left on the bedside table, but mostly he was focused on the soft press of Arthur's balls against the small of his back, and the way his own hardening cock was now grinding into the mattress. Getting it up again and getting off a second time wasn't seeming quite so impossible now. Especially after he got Arthur's sizeable cock in him.

This seemed to be inevitable now, as Arthur shuffled back a little, then maneuvered them both so that he was kneeling between Eames' thighs instead of straddling them.

Eames felt open and exposed like this. It wasn't as though he hadn't been in this same position in his female forge. But for some reason.... For some reason it was _different_ here, in his real body. He couldn't have justified it if he'd tried to put it into words, but it was the plain truth.

"You okay?" Arthur, of course, was aware of Eames' sudden, stupid bout of nerves, and he must have set the tube aside, because those were both his hands, running warm and comforting up and down Eames' back to either side from his spine, from his shoulderblades down to the upper swells of his arse, around to caress his waist and hips briefly, then scratching lightly at the skin over his ribs with hard, neatly trimmed nails.

"I'm fine," Eames replied, trying to sound scornful and probably not succeeding. He shivered as he felt Arthur bend to press a hot, damp kiss to the small of his back, and then Arthur's large but graceful hands were cupping Eames' arse cheeks, thumbs raising tingling sensations over the surface of his skin. It wasn't ticklish, but it wasn't far from it. "You can get on with it."

"Or I could take my time," Arthur replied, and it sounded as though he was smirking again. Not that Eames begrudged him that. But it was messing with his instincts, having someone behind him where he couldn't see them like that. If it hadn't been Arthur and if he hadn't trusted Arthur so implicitly, he never would have been able to stand it.

"You kept this tattoo in the dream-share," Arthur continued, and now the soft pads of his fingers were tracing over a sworl of ink that decorated Eames' right backside, in the spot where back, arse, and hip met. "I always wondered if you had it while waking. Any reason you only carried this one over?"

Eames was trying to repress the full body shudders that Arthur's teasing touch threatened to raise in him, and he took a moment to respond. "Well. It's the only one that wouldn't look out of place on my blonde bombshell, isn't it?"

"I suppose," Arthur said absently, and his hand vanished, followed by the blessed sound of a lid being popped open. Finally, he seemed to be willing to get on with things. "Though I have to say that I prefer you like this, in your real body, with all the scars and ink and scruff."

Eames might have gotten indignant over the miscommunication that had cost them three years of doing this in reality. He might have protested the word "scruff". He could have explained why that one tattoo was so important to him that he had carried it over into the dream, on his blond, and every other forge so long as he or she was above the age of fifteen. But then Arthur's finger was between his arse cheeks, anointing his long neglected hole, and he really hadn't the brain power for anything else.

He tried to relax, did his best not to clench up. Arthur, as he had already known from all the times they'd had sex in the dream-share, was a conscientious lover who made sure that the lube wasn't cold, who made sure he didn't make any sudden moves, and he actually informed Eames about everything that he was doing just before he did it; a new development that was so incredibly sexy that Eames wondered if he'd want to do this any other way ever again. He had always loved Arthur's voice, and to hear it low and intimate, detailing the filthy things that he intended to do, that he was _doing_.... God!

One finger hadn't been bad, and Arthur was being generous with the lube, but by the time he was up to three fingers, Eames was definitely feeling it.

"At the risk of sounding horribly cliched," Arthur said, his voice breathless and amused at once, "You're so tight."

"C-careful," Eames whined, as the stretch burned particularly painfully for a moment. He was no wilting flower, certainly was not a virgin, but this was his arse on the line, literally. Not to mention.... "It's been three years since I've done this outside the dream-share, in my real body."

There was a sudden emptiness where Arthur's fingers had been, and a chill where his body heat had been blanketing Eames' prone form. Eames twisted slightly and saw that Arthur had reared back and was staring down at him in wide-eyed shock.

Eames winced, knowing what he had just given away, but it had only been the truth. And it wasn't necessarily a bad thing that Arthur find this out... just a little humiliating.

"You haven't--" Arthur cut himself off and his eyes narrowed. "You mean that you haven't bottomed in three years, right?"

Eames sighed, unaccountably tired, even though arousal was still zinging over every centimeter of his skin. It might have been a salve to his pride to let Arthur continue along this line of belief, but he couldn't do that, couldn't lie by omission, and suddenly he wanted Arthur to _know_. Wanted Arthur to be aware that Eames had been true to him, even though Arthur had never asked or demanded it of him.

"I mean I hadn't had sex outside the dream-share in three years," he grumbled, turning back to the fore and resting his head on his folded arms. It was easier to confess when he wasn't looking at Arthur, when he didn't have to see the expression on his face. Of course, now he had to wonder what it might be. Shock, surely; that had already been there. But then melting to what? Disgust? Pity? Or maybe....

"Really?" Arthur asked, barely above a whisper, and suddenly he was draped over Eames, heavy and warm, his breath gusting in the hollow behind Eames' ear, his chest moving against Eames' shoulderblades. His hands rubbed at the tense muscles of Eames' upper arms, and unexpectedly he was pressing soft kisses against the nape of Eames' neck. Eames didn't think he was imagining that the tone in Arthur's voice was one of... wonder. "Not once in the three years?"

"Not with anyone who wasn't you. I'm not exactly the type to cheat," Eames retorted, before realizing that this might be a _huge_ tactical error, because there was nothing whatsoever to say that Arthur hadn't been sleeping with other people during that same period of time. It would only be to be expected, after all.

"I'm glad to hear that," Arthur murmured, still kissing and licking at the base of Eames' neck, across the tight line of his shoulders. "It's good to know I'm not the only one."

"Really?" this time it was Eames' turn to exclaim, and he used nearly the same tone Arthur had used, though he hadn't intended to. "I mean...."

Instead of getting offended or angry, Arthur just held him more tightly and leaned over his shoulder to kiss the point of his jaw. Eames felt that he should roll over and they should embrace face to face, maybe make out some more, but Arthur wasn't moving from where he was lying on top of Eames, and he didn't seem the slightest bit inclined to shift.

"We probably should have discussed this years ago," Arthur said, and he sounded as much exasperated as amused. "But you know what that means now, right?"

"That we don't need to use a condom?" Eames ventured.

Arthur laughed aloud at that, his entire frame shaking where it was resting on Eames' back. "A separate but equal answer," he chuckled, then before Eames could ask what Arthur had been thinking instead, sharp teeth sank unexpectedly but briefly into the muscle at the top of his shoulder and then Arthur was moving, back down to the space between Eames' legs. And this time Eames was able to open his thighs with no lingering bashfulness, with all of the confidence he liked to have toward everything that he did in his life.

After all, it wasn't as though he hadn't had Arthur between his thighs before, even though they had been decidedly slimmer and more smooth of skin than they were now. He had already known he could trust Arthur; now he knew just how much. And with this realization, it wasn't so hard having someone behind his back, where he couldn't see. Because it was _Arthur_ , and that was okay.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Arthur asked quietly, but already he was smoothing on more lube, getting his three fingers back in there more gently than before. "We don't have to...."

"We really do," Eames replied tartly, twisting to glare at Arthur as best he could. "Don't you pussy out on me now. I just asked you to be more careful, not to stop."

"All right," Arthur agreed readily enough, and he bent to kiss the dimples above Eames' arse cheeks in turn at the same time he twisted his fingers in a manner more kind than cruel. Or at least, to Eames' way of thinking. "Do you think you're ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Eames said, trying not to sound too snappish, because it was always a bad idea to antagonize a person who had their fingers in one's arse. "Hurry it up."

"I won't risk hurting you," Arthur came back with, and Eames started when Arthur's free hand came down on his arse cheek with a sharp slap that was more sound than sting.

"Nothing wrong with a little pain, provided it's meant the right way," Eames growled, shifting impatiently against the mattress. He was almost fully hard again, and definitely looking forward to being fucked. Fucked by his Arthur, for the first time in three years while waking, and for the first time ever by Arthur while waking. If that wasn't enough to get him all wound up anew, the pleasurable sensations that Arthur was drawing out of him with his skilled hands would do the rest.

"I'll keep that in mind," Arthur purred, moving up Eames' body again, propping himself on his elbows, and there is was, the head of his cock wedged between the cheeks of Eames' arse, pressing right up against his throbbing hole. Arthur had gotten him more than ready, and now Eames was certain that being made to wait would be a hundred times worse than any pain he might experience. "For the future," Arthur continued, and how was he able to keep his voice so steady even as he punched his way slowly but steadily into Eames' body? Ah, but there was a quick gasp, before he continued, a little less evenly. "Not right now, though."

"Oh, fuck," Eames gasped out, though he had honestly been intending on saying something more eloquent than that. "God, fuck, damn, _Arthur_."

"Mm, I love the way you say my name like that," Arthur rumbled in his ear, the words gusting on his panting breathes, and it was simply unfair that he was able to set a hook of sexual arousal in Eames' groin and tug with nothing more than his tone and his hot, moist exhalations. "It's so much _better_ in your real voice. I always knew it would be."

Eames groaned again and let his forehead fall down onto his arms, trying to relax as Arthur pushed his hard cock deeper inside. It did hurt a little, more than his fingers had, burned and stretched, but it felt so good, so right at the same time that this momentary discomfort was negligible. Eames had done this before, many, many times before his last three years of abstinence, and he knew that the mild pain would pass and that there was so much pleasure headed his way -- especially trusting Arthur as he did, to be an amazing lover -- that it didn't bear dwelling on.

"You feel so good," Arthur growled in his ear as he seated himself fully in Eames' willing body, and this was different from when Eames was a woman in the dream-share, so different, and it was _so much better_.

"Could say the same to you," Eames managed to grunt, and why was Arthur able to articulate when Eames could barely catch his goddamned breath? "Ah. F-fuck."

"Are you ready?" Arthur asked, holding perfectly still and kissing across Eames' shoulders again. When Eames nodded wordlessly, Arthur shifted his hands from the mattress on either side of Eames to Eames' shoulders, and there were no more gentle kisses as he set about determinedly screwing Eames into the mattress.

Eames could only hold on, and all he had to hold onto was the pillow in front of him, but Arthur had him all wrapped up in his lean but powerful arms, and he held Eames together even while he was fucking him to pieces. All of Eames' higher brain functions shattered away in shards, leaving behind pure animal pleasure, and, yes, he was hard again, and working his hips in tandem with Arthur's, as much to grind his cock into the bed as to meet and match each of Arthur's thrusts.

Arthur held onto his restraint, his control for a while, but then it just seemed to grow to be too much for him, and he rutted into Eames as vigorously as Eames was writhing beneath him. Eames was fairly sure that the noises coming out of Arthur weren't words, though maybe Arthur had meant them to be, but that might well have been as much due to the roaring of blood in his own ears as it was due to Arthur's loss of control.

"Oh, God," he managed to choke out as Arthur found just the right angle, his entire body jolting inside the ring of Arthur's arms, and then when Arthur took the hint and slammed over that spot several more times, he could do nothing but howl into the pillow as every muscle in his body tightened and he spilled his second load all over the bedcovers beneath him. Hot pleasure hit him like a fucking freight train, winding him up until it was almost agonizingly good to snap free, his cock pulsing under his belly, and he was probably squeezing Arthur's thrusting cock pretty tightly but he hadn't enough awareness to be certain, his head filled with crimson and gold flashes in the long, extended moment before everything washed away in a rush of buzzing warmth.

He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd come that hard, but as he slumped into the mattress, limp and maybe drooling a little on the pillow beneath his perspiration drenched face, he had to admit that he could barely remember his own name. He remembered the name of the man who was still moving over him, driving him rhythmically into the soft, soft bed beneath him, though.

"Arthur," he managed to husk out, and he wasn't sure that Arthur could even hear him, but perhaps it wasn't a coincidence that it was at this moment that Arthur gasped, stiffened, and strained against Eames, pushing in as deeply as he could get while he spilled inside of Eames.

The thought of Arthur staining him inside, marking him in reality rather than the dream-share, was almost as much a spreading warmth as the afterglow filling Eames' lax body. He sighed happily into his arms, his entire being, mind and body, feeling limp and sated as Arthur pulled out and slumped on the bed besides him. He turned his head lazily, intending to say something witty, perhaps something to lighten the mood, but his brain wasn't fully capable of creating words, and before he could get it working again Arthur was dragging him into his arms, and they were once more lying side by side, arms wrapped around one another, and Arthur was staking his claim to Eames' mouth all over again.

"Next time I want to see your face while we're fucking," Arthur whispered into Eames' chin, following this statement up with a light press of sharp white teeth despite the stubble. Eames always had enjoyed Arthur's propensity for using his teeth during sex, and he was looking forward to telling him that he could bite down harder now that he wasn't in the form of some delicate young female. It was a silly distinction to make, but there it was.

"Mirror?" Eames managed to rasp, even though he was pretty sure he'd had an entire sentence formed in his mind, ready to speak.

"If you like." Arthur was stroking Eames' hair back from his forehead with a clumsy but gentle hand. He might not be as utterly limp as Eames was feeling, but he wasn't far from it. Eames took some comfort from that fact. He also took comfort from the fact that Arthur was talking about "next time", which meant that this was not a one-off, that they were going to be doing this again.

Even though they had already discussed this, as explicitly as the two of them were capable of, Eames had spent so long pining over Arthur that it was difficult for him to believe that he could actually have what he wanted, that Arthur felt the same way he did. He hid it well, but Eames had always had a strong streak of insecurity running through him. The seeds had been planted by his parents, true, but further life experiences hadn't done much to offer him reassurance.

But then, there were people he knew that he could count on. Ariadne was trustworthy. Jack, so long as one didn't expect too much of him, would always live up to anything he'd promised. And, of course, there was Arthur. Darling Arthur. Beautiful Arthur. The one person that Eames always trusted, who he always _wanted_ to trust.

He had laid his heart on the line and now he had to trust Arthur not to break it. But since it seemed as though Arthur had done the same for him... well, maybe they really would be all right.

"You'll get your turn too," Arthur was saying dreamily, nuzzling at Eames' jaw despite the scruff, his tongue moving hot and wet along the line of his neck, leaving a faint chill in its wake. "However you want me."

"Arthur," Eames drawled, knowing that he was using the tone that turned Arthur on and wielding it like a weapon, even as he tightened his arm around the other man's torso. "You'll be the death of me yet."

"Don't be ridiculous," Arthur said, then sealed their mouths together before Eames could say anything further.

They kissed for long, languid moments, melting into one another, just enjoying the closeness... but as Eames came back to more of an awareness of his body, something else came to the forefront of his attention.

"Arthur, love," he murmured, running a heavy hand down the smooth line of Arthur's waist and flank, then squeezing his arse cheek lightly. "I hate to be a killjoy, but I'm lying in the wet spot."

Arthur laughed at this, they dragged themselves into the shower, and then... well, Eames wasn't as young as he used to be and he had just come twice in a relatively short period of time, not to mention it had been a hard, stressful job they had just completed, and so he didn't feel there was any shame in the fact that once they were back in bed he fell sound asleep, curled in Arthur's arms, his own arms wrapped around Arthur's beloved lean body.

And both of them far away from the wet spot.

***

Eames had rather wanted to wake Arthur with a nice blowjob, get Arthur's cock in his mouth when it was _really_ his mouth, not a forged-woman's mouth, but Arthur just had to go and thwart this lovely plan by rising before Eames woke the next morning.

"Rhng?" Eames asked, rather less than articulate, as he rolled over in the chilly, empty bed, and blinked at Arthur who was sitting at the hotel desk with his laptop open before him. Arthur was bare except for a pair of boxers, which was promising, but.... "Why are you over there and not here?" Eames asked plaintively, sitting up and running a hand through his hair, trying to tame the crazy cowlicks that afflicted him every morning.

Arthur glanced over and his face went soft and affectionate, an expression that made Eames' stomach twist with something that wasn't nerves but which was pretty damned close to it. It was definitely good to know that Arthur wasn't regretting what they had done the night before.

"I had to cancel my next job," Arthur said, clicking the laptop closed with a firm hand before rising and moving back toward the bed, and Eames. "I had a meeting with the client set up for this afternoon, and that's just not going to happen."

"Oh?" Eames thought that he probably could have said something more useful and intelligent than that, but he was watching a nearly naked Arthur with bed-head pacing deliberately toward him, and sexual arousal was rapidly drowning out any other response. Underneath the sheets, Eames's cock was hard and ready to go again, and thanks to Arthur's thin boxers he could see that he wasn't the only one.

"Not a chance in hell," Arthur replied, and he was smiling widely as he paused to shed his boxers, before climbing back into bed where he belonged and sliding into Eames' welcoming arms. "I'm going to be in this hotel room, with you, and we're going to fuck until we just can't get it up anymore, and then I'm going to take you out for a nice dinner, with wine and conversation, and then we'll come back here and fuck some more."

"You don't have to," Eames protested mildly, running his hands over the clean lines of Arthur's shoulders, bending to mouth at his collarbones. "I mean, the dinner, not the sex," he clarified, glancing up through his bangs, afraid for a moment that Arthur might misunderstand him even though he knew the man was smarter than that. "The sex is a must."

Arthur shook his head, his smile gentling as he ran his fingers through Eames' hair, stroking at the curve of his scalp. "I've got a lot to make up for," he said softly. "And I want to do things right this time. I apologize for taking you for granted, Eames."

"You never did," Eames protested immediately, because he was a man and even though he'd worn a female forge for three years in the dream-share that didn't make him any less male. "All I ever needed was you, Arthur," he added, because he felt that this should be said aloud.

"Then I'm sorry you didn't know that you had me," Arthur replied earnestly, and Eames could have lived forever in the warmth of his chocolate brown eyes, in the curves and planes of his beloved face. "And I still want to take you out to dinner and treat you right."

"Well.... Okay then," Eames said, because who was he to argue? He had to admit that this would go a long way toward soothing any lingering bitterness he might have felt from time to time during the last three years, the angst he had felt when he had mistakenly thought that little Ariadne had won Arthur's heart. Just at this moment, however, he had a far more pressing concern, and since he'd learned the hard way that he really needed to speak things aloud where Arthur was concerned, he just out and said it. "I'd really like to suck your cock now."

Arthur blinked, startled for a moment, and then he laughed again. Eames was never going to get tired of that sound, and he was thrilled that he was able to bring such a bright light to Arthur's eyes, that he could delight him so simply by being himself. "How could I possibly say no to that?" Arthur asked, his tone amused but also aroused.

As he pounced Arthur back into the bedcovers, Eames pondered the fact that it might have taken them a long time to get here, but they were finally both on the same page, and it was better than he ever would have thought that it might be. So much time wasted on wrong assumptions and miscommunications, but they were going to make up for it.

Maybe at some point they would go under again and have sex while Eames was a woman. That was always an option. But right now Eames was all himself, and he was all Arthur's. And Arthur was, beyond all expectation, his in turn.

"We can still go under and fuck in the dream-share," Arthur told Eames, because when they weren't busy completely misunderstanding each other he was still frighteningly good at reading Eames' mind. "But I want you here and now, like this." To emphasize and illustrated, he reached down under the sheets and grabbed Eames' hard cock.

"Absolutely," Eames replied, giving Arthur a crooked grin. "But right now _I'm_ blowing _you_ , remember?"

Arthur quickly let go of Eames' erection and instead grabbed his face, cradling it between his palms, then dipping forward to run his tongue along Eames' lips in something that wasn't a kiss, that left them damp and tingling. Then he tracked his thumbs over the parted swells, roughly enough that Eames could feel his own teeth digging into the inside of his lips, his expression avid and hungry as his gaze danced over the whole of Eames' face.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to see this mouth stretched around my dick?" Arthur asked hoarsely, and the thumb he shoved into Eames' mouth kind of prevented him from replying, but they both knew that the answer was, _"probably about as long as I've wanted to suck it."_

Eames could taste his own pre-ejaculate on the pad of Arthur's thumb, since this was the hand that had just been wrapped around his cock, but this was all about Arthur, and he was going to do whatever he could to make Arthur feel good, feel _amazing_. He latched onto the intrusive digit, in a manner that could possibly be labeled a tease, but which he preferred to think of as a promise, and watched Arthur's pupils spread like an ink blot on wet paper. God, the things that Arthur made him want, made him feel, made him need, made him want to _do_ to Arthur.

"It was never about your forge, Eames," Arthur said breathlessly, drawing his thumb out slowly, denting the center of Eames' lower lip with his nail, smearing Eames' own saliva across his chin. "It was always you. I want you to understand that."

"I didn't," Eames admitted, lashes flickering as he forced himself to meet Arthur's gaze. It was both harder and easier than he would have expected. "I really didn't. But I guess I do now."

There was little chance that he could have denied it, and he certainly didn't want to. Not the way Arthur was meeting his gaze, seriously, steadily. They were both naked and aroused, but this was a moment where they made a deeper connection, actually spoke the words so that there could be no further misunderstandings.

"You know it was always about you, right?" he returned, because he couldn't let Arthur be the only one to put it into words, even though he was pretty well sure by now that Arthur understood.

Arthur smiled at him and he might have bags under his eyes and his hair might be curling in crazy ways that almost rivaled Eames' own, but he was still the most beautiful sight Eames had ever seen.

"I do now," he parroted, but he said it fondly and not at all mockingly. His fingers stroked lightly down Eames' cheekbones and over his shoulders. "I think I always hoped, but I'd convinced myself that you were _never_ serious, that you couldn't _be_ serious. And that... well, that was both stupid and condescending of me, and I never meant to be condescending, no matter what you may sometimes think."

Eames grimaced, recalling his jibe during the Fischer job, when he had still been smarting from thinking that Arthur had fallen for Ariadne. He'd meant it at the time, but now he was relieved to realize that Arthur hadn't ever meant it the way it had sounded to his jaded ears. The only times that Arthur had ever put him down had been when Eames had lashed out first, and that was the truth.

"I was always serious," Arthur told him, and he leaned forward to kiss Eames, deeply, sweetly. Eames kissed Arthur back with all the emotion that was in his heart, everything that he couldn't say... but he didn't need to. Because Arthur understood. Arthur knew now.

"About that blowjob," he murmured when Arthur finally broke their kiss. Arthur smiled at him, dimples flashing, and Eames smiled back, full lips and crooked teeth.

They were starting in on the first morning of the rest of their lives, and finally, finally they were both on the same page at the same time.

Starting this first day with a blowjob... well, that just seemed the proper way to go about things.

[end]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Beautiful banner by Too Rational. *hearts*


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